Harry Potter and the Rise of the Amphiptere
by Lord Supremo
Summary: Post-OotP. After a traumatic start to his summer at Privet Drive, Harry snaps. An unlikely ally emerges, and Harry's discovery of the true Prophecy leads him away from Dumbledore and into the darkness, ultimately culminating in a battle for his very soul. Features Fem!Blaise, Dark!Aristocrat!Harry, Manipulative!Dumbledore, and eventual Harry/Many
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be posting on this website. Everything here you've seen before are the property of J.K. Rowling

Prologue

Life, mused Harry Potter, was Hell. He had been back at the Dursleys' for only three days, and in that stretch of time, one bit of bad news had come after another. It started in the car, with Uncle Vernon grumbling under his breath about "freaks" having no right to tell him how to live his life and raise his family. Upon arrival at his bedroom, a somber-looking Fawkes greeted Harry with a letter from Dumbledore. The letter, written in the Headmasters typical stoic-yet-cheerful style, had informed Harry that for security reasons, he could not send or receive any mail except that which had been screened by the Headmaster and sent with Fawkes.

Bitterly suspecting that this meant another summer cut off from the Wizarding World, Harry crumpled the parchment and was on the point of throwing it at Fawkes, but the phoenix had already Apparated away, or however it was that phoenixes traveled. Peeved at the lack of suitable outlets for his anger, Harry stormed down the stairs intent on baiting Dudley. When he reached the landing and turned to face the living room, however, he saw not an overweight youth pigging out in front of the TV, but rather a grapefruit-sized and hairy-knuckled fist hurtling at frightening velocity toward his face.

_CRACK!_

The fist drove directly into Harry's jaw, and caught unawares, Harry was knocked flat onto the floor, stunned. This hadn't happened in quite a long time. The fist, which turned out to belong to Uncle Vernon, retracted as its owner began yelling ferociously, punctuating an important point every so often with a swift kick to the ribs. As it was, Harry caught very little of what the man said, processing only small snatches between blows.

"…LIAR…"

"…BESMIRCHING MY GOOD NAME…"

"…WILL NOT TOLERATE…"

"…BUNCH OF WORTHLESS FREAKS!"

The last word was emphasized with a direct hit on Harry's face, and then his Uncle stalked away, still a violent shade of purple.

Later in the evening, at dinner, Harry noticed that he was back on the stale bread and moldy cheese diet, while the Dursleys ate a full lobster each. It was at the conclusion of this meal that the Dursleys notified him that he was to be confined to the house for the remainder of his stay.

That night, Harry's dreams were filled with horrors from the Department of Mysteries. This had been rather standard while at Hogwarts, but now, they were worse. Now, Ron was eaten by the brain. Now, Neville was tortured into insanity by Lestrange as she cackled, "Like father, like son!" Now, Fawkes didn't show up to save Dumbledore from Voldemort's _Avada Kedavra_. Now, Hermione was cleaved in half by Dolohov's spell. Harry woke up with a scream, and it took several minutes for him to calm down and drift back to sleep.

When Harry rose the next morning, he saw that his window had been refitted with bars. The door was locked. And a cold tin of soup was sitting just in front of his cat flap.

_Brilliant_, Harry thought. _So glad I'm ' protected' here._

Just as Harry had that thought, the sound of turning locks met his ears, and his Uncle entered the room, carrying a cricket bat. Without any preamble, he whacked Harry across the forehead with it, screamed something about lying freaks that didn't eat the food they were given, and stomped out.

And so, a routine was established. Three times a day, cold soup was pushed through the flap. Three times a day, Vernon would follow it through the door, carrying some fresh blunt object. Three times a day, Harry would be knocked unconscious. Three times a day, the hate in him would grow just a little bit stronger.

Yes, thought Harry, life has indeed been Hell. His gaze fell upon his wand, lying innocently on top of a T-Shirt on his trunk. Would it be worth it? It would be considered self-defense, right? You couldn't get expelled for self-defense. _He_ couldn't get expelled for self-defense. _He_ was protected by Dumbledore. _He_ was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. The public would understand. The _Wizengamot_ would understand, and that's all that really mattered.

And so Harry sat, for what felt like hours, staring at the wand, trying to work up the nerve to do it. With one word, he could delay the pain. With another, he could return all that Uncle Vernon had inflicted upon him, and then some. With two, he could be free of this nightmare forever.

Forever. The word called to him like a long-lost lover, like a tray of Heaven's manna to a starving Ethiopian. He would do it.

Harry did not flinch when his uncle burst through the door, and had Vernon been a smarter man, he would have taken this as his cue to leave. Instead, he raised the 9-iron he was carrying and sneered at his nephew.

"Very funny, Potter. You can't scare me with that stick. You're not allowed to do magic in the summer."

Harry's eyes were curiously blank as he raised his wand, his voice oddly devoid of the emotions he normally wore on his sleeve.

"I don't care, Uncle," he stated flatly, and Vernon's eyes widened in shock as a tiny pinprick of green light glowed on the tip of Harry's wand.

"Goodbye, Vernon," said Harry, and then he ended with a whisper.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

AN: Hey, so here it is, my first chapter. Please review!


	2. Lord BlackPotter Goes to Court

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read my story, and bigger thanks to all you cool cats who reviewed it! I truly am amazed at how many of you there are: this story has 1740 hits, 30 reviews, and has been placed on 22 Favorites lists. I honestly didn't expect it to be read by even half the number that reviewed it, so this is really stunning. So, thank you again, and I'll respond to some reviews at the bottom. On with the show!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, would I waste my time writing on this website? I think not.

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Chapter One: Lord Black-Potter Goes to Court

Vernon Dursley lay still on the ground, eyes frozen open, mouth wide in a silent scream.

Harry Potter stood over him, wand drawn but lowered, head swirling with a frothing potpourri of warring emotions. Shock that he had actually done it. Revulsion in the thought that he was now a killer. Relief that his nightmare imprisonment was over. Euphoria that came with the use of any Dark Magic, especially the Unforgiveables. But the emotion that came to the forefront of Harry's consciousness was an overwhelming sensation the he contained immense power. _Ultimate power_, he thought, remembering Grand Moff Tarkin's remarks on the potential of the Death Star.

The power seduced him.

How could it not? Harry had been bereft of it his whole life. Throughout his entire existence others had controlled him: Be it Dumbledore, the Dursleys, Voldemort, his friends, his teachers, his parents, or that bitch called Fate.

But now he had the power. He could make that most basic of choices – to live or to die - for whomever he pleased, and with just two words. Slowly, a smile grew on Harry's face.

Harry felt his eyes close of their own volition, and the world went dark. Then, he was rushing through a great field of gray, with flashing blue-white lights zipping by every so often. After 30 seconds of this travel, the lights slowed down and he peered down and saw a giant sphere of light just out of his reach. On closer inspection, the sphere was composed of thousands of smaller lights, each identical to ones that had whizzed past not a minute hence. The sphere was perfect but for a single hump on the side of the sphere farthest from Harry. A thin thread of lights trailed out from the vertex of this hump and extended off into the indeterminate distance. Harry reached out to touch this strand; for some reason, it seemed to call for him to do so.

His fingers were on the verge of making contact when a sharp tapping noise brought him back to consciousness. Momentarily confused, Harry recovered himself and searched for the source of the disturbance. A medium sized brown owl was hovering outside Harry's window, tied to its claws was a letter with an official-looking seal. Forgetting himself, Harry Vanished the bars and magically unlocked and opened the window, granting the bird access. It swooped in, dropped its load on the teen's shoulder, and flew merrily back out of the window, casting Harry a smug glance over its shoulder and earning a stern hoot of annoyance from Hedwig.

Harry picked up the envelope and turned it over. _A Ministry seal_, Harry noted, and now foreboding was his overwhelming sense. He slit the envelope open with a finger, unfolded the note within, and read the now familiar hand of Mafalda Hopkirk.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you performed the Killing Curse in the presence of a Muggle at six minutes past six this evening.

The severity of the breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, as well as the Unforgiveable Curses Declaration of 1755 has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the release of a warrant for your arrest. A team of Aurors will be calling at your place of residence shortly to take you into custody.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic 

Harry checked the digital alarm clock next to his bed. It read 6:08. _How on earth did they get an owl here that fast_, Harry wondered. Then he realized the severity of his situation. If the Ministry could get an owl to his room all the way from London in just two minutes, it wouldn't take much longer than that to send a team of Aurors over. That meant he needed to pack.

Hurriedly, Harry grabbed up his essential items - his father's invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, and the scrapbook Hagrid gave to him – shrunk them, and placed them securely in his right pocket. Then, he sat down on the bed, set his wand down beside him, and waited.

Sure enough, no more than three minutes later, he heard a slightly muffled roar of "_Reducto!_" His door exploded, and three Aurors burst through the frame, wands at the ready, looking wildly around the room with their teeth clenched, apparently itching for any excuse to curse anything into oblivion.

The intensity of the men amused Harry. "A little excessive, don't you think?" he asked dryly, indicating the fragments of door now scattered about the floor and his own, non-threatening, posture.

One of the men had the grace to look a touch abashed and slightly lowered his wand, but the other two maintained their steely composure. The largest Auror jabbed his wand threateningly at Harry and growled with malicious delight, "Harry James Potter, you are under arrest for violation of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and," here the beefy man spied the dead Uncle Vernon lying not two feet in front of him, "first-degree murder of a Muggle by means of the Killing Curse. You will now be taken into custody to await trial before the High Court of the Wizengamot."

Harry did not move. "Aurors," he said in a reasonable tone, "I did what I did in self-defense, you see the golf club in the man's hands. Couldn't you just give me Veritaserum, verify my story, and call it a day?"

The large Auror was not amused. "Come with us now, Mr. Potter, or we will force you."

Harry grudgingly stood, and the three Aurors escorted him out. A Portkey was roughly shoved into his hands, and after that horrible navel jerk and spinning sensation, Harry found himself in a dark, 8' by 8' cell, bare except for a cot with a razor-thin mattress, pillow, and a toilet in the corner furthest from the door.

And so, for three days, Harry sat. He slept very little: the imprisonment was so similar to his time at Privet Drive that he would have nightmares of a raging Vernon bursting in with all kinds of pain-inflicting tools and wake up screaming. It was better, Harry supposed, than having Vernon _actually_ charge into the room, and better than watching Voldemort rape, pillage, torture, and kill all night. But, it was no great honor, either. _I know I'm the Chosen One_, Harry recalled Tevye's line bitterly, thinking of the new moniker the press had given him of late, _but couldn't the Fates choose someone else every once in a while?_

On the third day, the cell door was roughly thrown open and the light streaming in from the hallway blinded Harry momentarily.

"Time for your trial, sweetheart," the guard standing at the door sneered mockingly. Harry did not dignify the remark with a response, but rather merely passed the guard and continued down the hallway to the lifts.

A squat, dangerous-looking goblin in an official-looking uniform stood in the center of the lift, hands clasped behind his back. As he saw Harry and the Auror approach, the goblin easily raised his right hand and snapped his fingers once. The Auror went slightly cross-eyed for a second, shook his head, and walked away in the direction from which he had come. The goblin beckoned Harry with one finger, and confused, Harry obeyed.

The lift door closed, and Harry quirked an eyebrow at the goblin. "My name is Grabtooth." The goblin stated his name as though it explained everything. When it became obvious that the name did not explain everything, the goblin went on.

"I am the head of the Inheritance and Succession Department at Gringotts." Here the goblin paused again, waiting for some sign of recognition.

When none came, the goblin sighed and continued. "Mr. Potter, whether or not you are aware of it, you are heir to two very large fortunes, those of the Blacks and the Potters. We'll go over the details later, but very soon you will be a very, very rich man."

"Won't matter too much if I'm in jail, will it?" Harry had been thinking during his three-day imprisonment and was now much less optimistic about his chances of acquittal.

Grabtooth gave a small chuckle. "That is why I am here, Mr. Potter, to tell you that all is taken care of. Gringotts will not allow one of our largest and most recognizable clients go to jail. Merely stay calm in that courtroom, speak of only the facts, and you will walk away without even a fine."

The lift clattered to a halt as the goblin completed its pronouncement and the iron gates creaked open. They were now in a corridor that Harry vaguely recognized as the one leading to the courtroom where he was tried the previous summer. As Harry stepped out of the lift, Grabtooth whispered to him, "Remember, _stay calm_."

Harry nodded, exited the lift, and strode toward a grim-faced Auror who was evidently waiting for him. The Auror gave Harry a curt nod and led him into the courtroom.

Courtroom Ten was exactly the same as the last time Harry had set foot in it. Dark stone walls, dimly lit by torches, surrounded him. Ahead of him sat the Wizengamot, 50 of the most powerful men in Wizarding Britain. In the center sat Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, who wore an extremely smug look on his bloated face. So far, the only difference Harry could detect was a large crowd filled the benches that had been empty.

As he walked to the chained chair in the center, Harry scanned the crowd for familiar faces, and he found them. To his right, Hermione was sitting with Neville, Dean, and Seamus, each of whom wore looks that were a mixture of worry and outright sadness. Curiously, the Weasleys were not sitting with this group, but rather were a few rows back on Harry's left. Mrs. Weasley was crying and being comforted by her husband. Fred and George were looking on with apprehensive interest. Bill had a pensive look on his face, and Ginny was gazing down on Harry with eyes full of unshed tears. The most interesting Weasley, however, was Ron. He was sitting on the outside of his family, arms crossed, and wearing a facial expression not uncommon to that of a person experiencing an old outhouse for the first time.

Above the Weasleys sat Draco Malfoy, who looked as giddy as anyone who's father had just been arrested could. A few seats over sat Blaise Zabini, a pretty Slytherin girl in Harry's year. Her face was unreadable, but Harry detected the slightest hint of…was it approval? Harry had never exchanged more than a few sentences with Blaise; she seemed to be a true Slytherin that worked behind the scenes to achieve her ends. Harry filed her posture away for later analysis and continued to walk.

Finally, he reached the manacled chair and sat. Instantly, the chains sprang to life and fastened him tightly to the seat. _Make that two differences_, Harry thought.

Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat imperiously. "Order, order," he called, banging a gavel to quiet the audience. Behind him, a few members of the Wizengamot corrected their posture.

"We are here today," Fudge began, "to hear the case of Mr. Harry James Potter of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, who stands accused of first-degree murder of a Muggle and use of an Unforgiveable Curse against a fellow human being." Fudge paused for effect, then stared down at Harry. "Are you Mr. Harry James Potter of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?"

"Yes," Harry declared, and Percy Weasley, sitting on the Minister's left, began scribbling furiously.

"And how do you plead to these charges?" Fudge asked.

"Not guilty by reason of self-defense," Harry said with a clear voice, just as he'd practiced. He heard a number of cameras snapping pictures.

Thus, the trial began. Looking back, Harry felt that the goblins may have wasted whatever resources they used to ensure his acquittal; since this trial was being held very publicly, Fudge could not use the same bully tactics he had at the previous year's hearing and as such, Harry was afforded plenty of time to tell his side of the story. The peanut gallery did its job beautifully, gasping when Harry described the treatment he had been subjected to for those three hellish days at Privet Drive and nodding its collective head when Harry explained why he felt he had to take Vernon's life. Fudge's case was sunk when, after Harry recalled the first time Vernon smashed him in the head with a wrench, Percy looked up from his writing, snorted, and asked why Vernon would suddenly start beating Harry after nearly 15 years of peaceful existence. Harry then treated Percy to a long history lecture on the various physical and emotional abuses committed against him by the Dursleys. At the end of his tale, the crowd appeared ready to take up pitchforks and torches against the family; no one, especially not a group of lowly _Muggles_, should be allowed to harm the Boy-Who-Lived like that.

In the end, the vote was 49 for acquittal, and only Cornelius Fudge for conviction. After the trial, Hermione and Blaise showed signs of wanting to talk to him, but a pair of goblins whisked Harry away before either could reach him. Before he knew it, Harry was sitting at the head of a long mahogany conference table, surrounded by goblins.

Before him were but two sheets of paper, although the goblins held many more in their arms. Harry read the one on the left first, which said,

I, Sirius Black, being of sound body and mind, do hereby adopt Harry James Potter into my care as Magical Guardian. In front of these witnesses I do swear to provide for, care for, nurture, and protect Harry James Potter to the best of my ability, until such time as Harry James Potter reaches the age of majority. Henceforth, Harry James Potter shall be known as Harry James Black-Potter, and shall be considered a full member of both House Black and House Potter.

Signed,

Sirius Black

Harry sat riveted to his chair, eyes watering and fixated on the document in front of him. _I could have lived with Sirius this summer_.

Eventually, Harry moved on to the next document, which bore the legend "The Last Will and Testament of Lord Sirius Black." Harry glanced mournfully up at the goblins, one of whom looked back with…was it empathy? Harry decided that the rare skill of displaying an emotion other than surliness or greed was what had landed the goblin in this room. Banishing an amusing mental image of a cavern full of goblins practicing "I'm sorry" faces to audition for the job, Harry returned, slightly more cheerful, to the task at hand.

The Last Will and Testament of Lord Sirius Black

I, Lord Sirius Black, being of sound body and mind, do hereby make my last Will and Testament.

First, to Mr. Remus J. Lupin, I leave a stipend of ten million Galleons per year and the Black Family Chateaux in Marseilles, with the condition that Mr. Lupin spend no less than one thousand Galleons per month on personal effects. It's not charity, Moony, it's the least I can thank you for your years of friendship. Now go and have fun.

Second, to Auror Nymphadora Tonks, I leave a stipend of two million Galleons per year, and the Black Penthouse in London. I know entry-level Auror salary isn't too great, so I hope this helps. Please be there for Harry when the time comes, he will need you.

Third, to Mr. Arthur Weasley, I leave five million Galleons. Despite the disagreements I had with your wife, you and your family have always acted as the family Harry never had, and for that I am profoundly grateful. Please accept this as a token of that gratitude.

Fourth, to Miss Hermione Granger, I leave one million, five hundred thousand Galleons. I cannot thank you enough for helping me to escape in your third year. Thank you also for being Harry's most loyal friend, and I ask that you remain so no matter what happens.

Fifth, to Mr. Ronald Weasley, I leave one million Galleons. You, too, have been a great and loyal friend to Harry. I know your sensitivity in matters regarding money, but please take this in the spirit that it is offered, the spirit of gratitude, not condescension.

Finally, all Black family assets, holdings, properties, titles, and lands, as well as all of my personal belongings not delegated above are left to Harry James Black-Potter. Harry, I'm sorry I didn't get to stay with you longer. Please, for my sake, don't dwell on my death. Live each day like it's your last; chase girls, play Quidditch, stay true to your friends. You will likely discover something about yourself sometime soon, it's not my place to say what, and when you do, please remember that even the best prophecies are self-fulfilling.

Here ends the Last Will and Testament of Lord Sirius Black.

Witnesses: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody.

Upon seeing that Harry had finished reading the documents before him, Grabtooth stepped forward. "Lord Black-Potter," he began smoothly, "as you have no doubt gathered from the size of the apportionments in your step-father's Will, the Black Estate is a very large one, indeed the Blacks have always held one of the largest accounts in our bank." He extended a claw-like hand filled with several of the documents. "Here is a complete summary and description of the Black assets."

Harry accepted the documents and began to read. As he went over the rather expansive list, he skimmed over most parts, but a few key components did catch his eye:

_**Liquid Assets…**3,770,309,000 Galleons_

_**Black Castle. **90,000 ft2, 100 rooms, located on 6,000 acres outside Portsmouth. Served as the Black Ancestral Home for nearly 1200 years prior to purchase of the London Estate. Magical defenses: Unplottable, Proximity ward, last updated in 1852._

_**Alphard's Atoll.** Small chain of islands off the coast of Tunisia. Was purchased in 1893 by Alphard Black. Main island (12 sq. miles) contains 30,000 ft2 villa, with 25 rooms. Adjacent islands were renovated in 1980 by Lord Sirius Black, contain amenities such as full-size Quidditch pitch, guest huts (2,000 ft2 each) for up to 200 guests, Combat Simulator. Much of all the islands is covered with jungle. Magical defenses: Unplottable, Anti-Portkey ward, Anti-Apparition ward, last updated in 1980. Water directly around the islands contains 3 Sea Serpents._

_**Black Penthouses.** Located in most major port cities around the world, the Penthouses were purchased in 1975 by Regulus Black. Each is at least 10,000 ft2 and house elves update the furnishings every five years. Magical defenses: Proximity ward, Anti-Portkey ward, Anti-Apparition ward, last updated in 1978. Accessible only by Floo from the Black Castle, the London Estate, or the main house on Alphard's Atoll._

_**Black Shipping. **The world's oldest shipping firm. Does business in both the Magical and Muggle worlds. Yearly profits exceed one billion Galleons. Ownership stake: 100_

_**Black Magical Zoo. **The world's largest collection of magical creatures. Is the Wizarding World's third most popular tourist destination, behind the Quidditch World Cup and Diagon Alley. Yearly profits exceed five million Galleons. Ownership stake: 100_

_**ExxonMobil. **Initial startup money was given to John D. Rockefeller by Alphard Black in the mid-1800s. Yearly profits in excess of six billion Galleons. Ownership stake: 40_

_**The Daily Prophet. **Founded in conjunction with the Potter Family in 1732. Yearly profits hover around two million Galleons. Ownership stake: 33_

_**Count of Hampshire. **Traditional Title of the Head of the Black Family. Gives the Head a seat in the Upper House of the Wizengamot._

Harry sat back and let out a slow breath. This was a lot to comprehend. The goblins had no intentions of allowing him to catch his breath, however, as a goblin dressed in fine silk robes lined with some sort of silvery fur stepped forward and addressed him.

"Lord Black-Potter, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Beastslayer. A long time ago, I served as your parents' financial advisor, and I have overseen the Potter Estate since their death. Since you have accepted your inheritance from the late Lord Black, you are now subject to an old law regarding Pureblood families and their heirs.

"Now, don't give me that look, please milord," added Beastslayer, noticing the expression of fright and anger that had appeared on Harry's face. "The law is nothing bad, it merely states that Lords and scions of the Noble Families come of age at 16, not the usual 17. This means, milord, that you will come into your Potter inheritance a full year earlier than you expected."

_I thought I already _had_ come into my Potter inheritance_, thought Harry, but instead he asked, "Shouldn't this have already been the expectation? I've always been the Potter heir."

"True, milord," said Beastslayer, stroking his chin knowingly. "However, since your mother's line is all Muggle as far back as genealogical charts go, you are not a pureblood, and thus, not considered a 'scion,' despite the Potter line being among the oldest still in existence."

Harry nodded, and then massaged his temples in a futile attempt to clear his muddled thoughts. Seeing that the young Earl was thoroughly overwhelmed, Grabtooth said, "That's all the business for today. Lord Black-Potter, there will be a public reading of the late Lord Black's will in three days' time. Your attendance is not necessary, although it might be beneficial to you to come. The way people behave at will readings is often the best judge of their character."

With that, the goblins exited the room, with Harry following. A young-looking goblin in a rather plain suit escorted Harry back to the lobby.

Once he was alone, Harry went to thinking about where he was to stay. _I'll just rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron_, decided Harry. He exited Gringotts and walked, head down, towards the inn. He had not made it more than a block from the marble entranceway when he crashed headlong into a rather squishy something and fell. Harry picked himself up, looked around to see what he had hit, and was greeted with something he had never seen before.

Albus Dumbledore was glaring down at him with a look of utmost fury on his face.

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A/N: Yes, yes, I know, not very much action in this chapter, more than a couple cliches, but I promise that everything you see here )and perhaps some stuff you didn't!) will become important later on. To all those who may be confused by the shift in Harry's mindset from seduced-by-the-dark person back to a more canon-like bitchiness from the beginning to the end of this chapter, that has to do with the three-day imprisonment and the reminder of Sirius' death that is his will. Both of these triggered a relapse that will last for just a touch longer (I swear, just a touch!). So, to some review responses!

First, to **Jiyu Hatell Kodai**, and the rest of you who commented on the prologue's ending, I will try to end every chapter with some sort of cliffie. If that bothers anyone, go read something else.

To **sambee**, yes there will be plenty of "chaos, evil, and suffering," as you so aptly put it, but not for a while. I don't believe that Harry could transform from a docile, dark-magic hater into the modern-day equivalent of a Viking Berserker so quickly(look for him to fit that mold later, though).

To **Parselmaster**, I got that complaint on the forum at too, so I'll copy-paste the response I posted there. I can see why Vernon's abuse of Harry might seem sudden, but think about it this way: Prior to recieving his Hogwarts letter, for the entirety Harry's life at Privet Drive he was beaten, starved, and neglected by the Dursleys. Then, when came back after his first year, they didnt beat him anymore, but Petunia swung a frying pan at his head, and Vernon threatens to beat him. After the Aunt Marge incident, however, the Dursleys realized that they couldnt get away with pissing Harry off anymore, so they left him alone. But in the summer before 5th year, Vernon showed that certain stimuli (Mundungus' Apparition, the Dementor attack) could lead him to hurt Harry again (Harry was strangled twice the day of the attack). I think that the public humiliation brought upon Vernon by the Order qualifies as a stimulus to restart the major abuse.

To **japanese-jew**, true, but Harry's plan really wasn't much of one. In true Gryffindor fashion, there was very little thought about the aftermath of Vernon's killing, unless you count the "Dumbledore will protect me" bit, which, as you saw a little of and will see more later, didn't pan out.

To **tessa3**, you will get your wish. Harry will have much more important things to worry about for the next few chapters than getting laid.

And finally, to **Lady Erinyes**, I think that Harry's line of thinking there was rational, considering his previous experience. He won't be relying on Dumbledore's protection for long, though, as the end of this chapter may have hinted.

Thanks again to everyone who read/reviewed!


	3. Confrontation and Confliction

Disclaimer: The owner of Harry Potter is a billionaire living in a castle in the United Kingdom. I'm an upper-middle class high school student living in Santa Rosa, California. Infer what you will

Thanks to all the people who informed me of the formatting error on the last time I tried to post this. Hopefully it worked this time. On with the show!

Chapter Two: Confrontation and Confliction

In his lifetime, Albus Dumbledore had seen, for want of a better phrase, a lot of shit. During the war against Grindelwald, he saw his wife and two of his brothers brutally murdered by a pack of _Toetessern_, as the forces of the dark were then named. His lone surviving family member, Aberforth, was tortured to near-insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange's great-uncle, Rudolph Krieger. Following his astonishing defeat of Grindelwald, public clamor forced Dumbledore to preside over the administration of the Dementor's Kiss to 74 alleged _Toetessern_, earning a host of enemies, a deep-seated hatred of Dementors, and a lifetime of nightmares in the process.

It was at this time that Dumbledore began studying in earnest. Already a very powerful wizard, Dumbledore now strove to be the best. 'I need to protect myself,' was his mantra as he spent nearly two decades poring over the entire Hogwarts library.

Unsatisfied with his progress, Dumbledore took a five-year sabbatical from his position as Headmaster, seeking out old comrades-in-arms from the war. Dumbledore was desperate for any scrap of knowledge that would keep him ahead of any up-and-coming Dark Lord, any whisper of a spell that could defeat the evildoer before he gained any followers. Followers that would have to be Kissed when the war was over. Dumbledore didn't think he could bear it.

It was during this sabbatical that Dumbledore saw for the first time, a victim of the Killing Curse. Contrary to the stereotype of the ruthlessly efficient German, the _Toetessern_ scorned the quick _Avada Kedavra_ in favor of curses that killed their victims slowly or messily. Gore was something Albus had taught himself to handle. But to watch the life wiped from a person's body instantly, effortlessly, and without the remotest hope of survival triggered something deep within Dumbledore's psyche; a primal fear that no matter how hard he worked, no matter what he studied, no matter whom he contacted, he was completely and utterly helpless against this curse.

So when Albus Dumbledore heard that his prize project, Harry Potter, had used the worst of the Unforgivables against his own uncle, he was shocked and more than a little angry. Normally a man who stayed calm through the most trying of situations, Dumbledore had spent three days storming around his newly reinstated office at Hogwarts, causing much gossip among the paintings. He recused himself from the trial, citing an emotional bias, but when Fawkes brought him word of Harry's overwhelming acquittal, Dumbledore felt compelled to go speak with the boy himself. Summoning the two Order members on duty at Grimmauld Place (he was too rushed to notice which two they were), Dumbledore made for the Leaky Cauldron, where he deduced Harry would stay. 'That's one nice thing about these teenagers,' Dumbledore thought, 'They're predictable.'

To the surprise of the aging Headmaster, however, when he asked Tom the barkeeper which room Harry was in. The toothless man replied that the Boy-Who-Lived had not yet checked in. Confused, Dumbledore left the tavern and headed up Diagon Alley, certain that Potter had not yet left the vicinity. Sure enough, not two hours later, he spotted the young savior walking out of Gringotts, walking tall but wearing a stupefied expression on his face.

Momentarily, Dumbledore was shocked. Harry's new combination of raggedy robes and an arrogant gait struck Dumbledore with a wicked case of déjà vu. Harry was looking and behaving exactly as a young Tom Riddle had, 50 years earlier, upon learning of the vast riches he had inherited as the last of the Slytherin line.

Ice water ran in Dumbledore's veins, and a rather unpleasant shiver worked its way up his spine. It was as though his body was trying desperately to send a message to Dumbledore's raging mind, 'Cool off, old man!'

But the effort had been in vain. All traces of twinkle gone, Dumbledore advanced menacingly toward his student, the efforts of Tonks and Snape to keep up barely registering. Harry, who seemed lost in thought ('Just like Tom was,' thought Dumbledore grimly), did not notice his Headmaster until the two collided, sending the teen firmly to the ground. Dumbledore glared down as his pupil picked himself up and looked to see into whom he had crashed.

Harry's first reaction to seeing that the man he had run into was Albus Dumbledore was relief. The last thing the Black heir would have needed was to have inadvertently gotten into a fight with some short-tempered stranger. Harry was about to make a remark to that effect when he noticed the look of utter hatred, disgust, anger, and most shockingly, fear that his Headmaster was directing at him. The look was more intense than any Harry had seen on Dumbledore's face, and it made a breath catch in Harry's throat.

"_What the Devil were you thinking, boy!_" growled Dumbledore, drawing his wand and directing it at Harry's face.

Harry was now truly scared and reflexively drew his own wand. Undaunted, Dumbledore continued to quietly yell.

"An _Avada Kedavra_ curse? A visit to Gringotts completely unscheduled and unprotected? Why are you consorting with goblins, Harry?"

Dumbledore almost made it sound like the visit to the goblins was more egregious a sin than his use of the Killing Curse, and this confused Harry so much that he could not form a response, and Dumbledore continued unheeded.

"I don't know _what_ you were thinking," the elderly Professor raged, "There's no way you can _ever_ go back to Privet Drive now, not now that you've gone and killed Vernon…" Here Dumbledore trailed off, turned away, and seemed momentarily lost in thought. He appeared to be muttering extremely softly to himself, but Harry thought he saw the wizard's lips form the word "_Obliviate_." Suddenly, Dumbledore flew back around and was in Harry's face.

"_Do you have any idea how much danger you've put yourself in?"_ Dumbledore's voice, while fierce as a mother bear, was now only just above a whisper.

Here, Harry got a chance to speak. "Professor Dumbledore, with all due respect, I was in a lot more danger there than I would be in a cell in Voldemort's fortre-," here Harry would have begun to recant his horrifying tale to Dumbledore, but the Headmaster cut him off."

"Harry," he began, as though explaining something rather basic to someone extremely slow, "the blood wards at 4 Privet Drive prevented any atta-" but now it was Dumbledore was cut off.

"What about attacks from within?" It was more a statement than a question. "Did you ever consider the notion that my Aunt and especially my Uncle might be angry at having to raise a magical child, and that they may have taken out that frustration on me?

"Professor Dumbledore, if you were at the trial, you would know that I killed my uncle in self-defense, he was advancing on me with a golf club at the time and had been torturing and starving me mercilessly for the previous 3 days." Harry paused briefly to quash the memories that had sprung up, but carried on with a fiery determination, brushing aside a beetle that had landed on his arm.

"And I've been thinking, Professor, that this isn't the first time I've been abused, not by a long shot. Ever since I was old enough to do chores, the Dursley's had beaten me for not doing them well enough. I've been spanked, slapped, punched, belted, switched, caned, broken, and burned more times than I can count. And that's not to mention all the emotional damage I've suffered from not having any friends until Hogwarts, because Dudley would beat up anyone who so much as gave me a sympathetic look, or from being called "worthless freak" in place of my actual name. Did you know that I thought "worthless freak" was my name until I was 3 and by some miracle found the blanket I was wrapped in when you left me at that hellhole? And where were you throughout all of this? Neither you nor any member of your Order ever checked on me to make sure I was all right. Not even Mrs. Figg, and she was just a block away! How could you possibly say I'm safe there?"

Harry ended his speech and stood, glowering, waiting for Dumbledore to come up with a response.

It was a long wait.

Finally, Dumbledore sighed and turned with a mournful air back to Harry. "Harry, I'm truly sorry that you were put through such an ordeal, but I must insist that you return to Privet Drive. It is the only place that is safe for you, my boy. Voldemort and his Death Eaters will not stop until he has killed you, and if he does find you that is exactly what will happen." Dumbldore paused and then continued with emphasis, "Harry, _you are not ready to truly face Voldemort_. If the two of you had a proper duel, you would be killed within a matter of minutes, and the entire fate of the Wizarding World would be lost."

"So your solution is to isolate me at Privet Drive? How could I possibly learn to fight him if all I can do is sit on my bed and _wank_ off? I don't think Voldemort will be defeated by either my semen or the knowledge contained in my textbooks. Besides, the whole world knows I live at Privet Drive now, its been said three times in court! Death Eaters could camp out at the edge of the wards and kill me whenever I left the house!"

But Dumbledore wasn't listening, "Harry, if you will not quietly and _respectfully_ return to Privet Drive, I can and will force you." At this, Tonks and Snape made themselves known. "I really hate to do this to you, Harry, but it is for your own good."

Harry's exterior assumed a combative position, wand raised, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. Harry's interior began to panic. He really did not want to go back to Privet Drive.

Harry's eyes swept the trio in front of him, looking for any means of escape. On his left, Snape had his wand casually raised, his ever-present smirk threatening to burst into a full-on smile. His whole body seemed to be screaming "What on earth does this idiot Gryffindor think he's doing?"

In the center was Dumbledore, wand raised more authoritatively than Snape's. Harry figured that Dumbledore must have learned long ago to never underestimate any opponent, because his posture was no different than it was prior to his duel with Voldemort.

On Harry's right was Tonks, and she was behaving even more differently than normal. Although her wand was raised in a similar manner to Dumbledore's, their facial expressions were completely opposite. Where Dumbledore's was a steely visage of determination to see his desired result come to fruition, Tonks' seemed to tell Harry that she was on his side. Harry stared deeply into her now-orange irises and suddenly heard Tonks' voice in his head. _Run to me, Harry! I'll Apparate us to safety!_

Harry gave a tiny start, but still caught Tonks give him a tiny nod of confirmation. This was all the prompting Harry needed and he broke to Tonks' side. The instant he grabbed her hand, Harry felt a most curious tingling sensation all over his body, and suddenly, he was standing in the entrance hall of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

He turned to Tonks to ask what was going on, but the Auror shook her head quickly and whispered urgently, "There's no time, Harry, we must enact great-grandfather's wards to protect this place. You're owner of the house, just yell 'Wards activate,' and everyone will be sealed out."

Harry did, and not five seconds later, a whooshing noise told him that two people had been turned away by the anti-Apparition wards. Satisfied that the house was now safe, Harry looked over to Tonks.

"Thank you, Tonks," he began, remembering the manners that Aunt Petunia had beaten into him. "Now, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but why did you do that?"

"Because you are the Head of my family," Tonks replied simply. "You needed help that I could provide, so I did."

"Oh," was Harry's eloquent response.

"And besides that, you were right," continued Tonks, as though there had been no pause between her sentences. "Dumbledore's told us all the prophecy, or at least the part that Voldemort knows, and if you're going to stand any chance at all, you'll need all the help you can get. This house happens to be perfect for training you: it's got the Fidelius on it, so even if there weren't wards to prevent the Ministry from detecting magic, the owls couldn't find you and thus, justice couldn't be 'served.' Also, this house should hold an extensive library where you could learn all kinds of spells; all the old pureblood manors have them."

"But Tonks, what about the Floo? Dumbledore could burst into this room any second!" Harry motioned at the large fire crackling merrily not ten feet to his left.

Tonks' pupils grew wide, but after a second she shook her head. "No, if the Headmaster could come through the Floo, he'd have done it already."

"Still, I'm uncomfortable," said Harry with a touch of ambivalence, and he began to think. Who would know about the Floo system?

"KREACHER!" yelled Harry, after a minute of thought. Instantly the old house elf appeared, grumbling something rather nasty about "bizarre, pink-haired, ill-bred blood traitors."

"Shut up, Kreacher," stated Harry authoritatively, and the house elf seemed surprised when he stopped talking.

"Much better," said Harry. "Now tell me, Kreacher, if people can enter this house through the Floo."

Suddenly, a vision came to Harry, a memory of the last time he had asked the elf a question.

_Kreacher, tell me! Has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?_

_Master shall not return from the Department of Mysteries! Finally, Kreacher and his Mistress are all alone!_

Harry's blood began to boil as two weeks' worth of repressed hate, anger, and utter sadness threatened to burst out of him. Harry saw red as Kreacher began to open his mouth to form a response; in a flash, his wand was out and the Killing Curse was on his lips.

But as Harry's lips began to form the first syllable of that most dreaded of curses and a small bubble of green began to form on the end of his wand, he felt a soft, warm _something_ place itself on his shoulder. Harry looked to the side and saw Tonks grabbing his shoulder, pink eyes full of concern, head urgently shaking. "Not now," she mouthed, and Harry's rational brain took over his primal instincts. He could not kill the elf now, they needed so much information from him. His revenge would have to wait.

With a sigh, Harry looked down at Kreacher, who was staring up at him in abject fear. "Go on, Kreacher, but could you repeat that last bit? I got a little distracted."

Kreacher took a sizeable gulp, but bravely resumed talking. "As I was saying, the Floo connection here is set to only allow only outbound travel and travel to the various Black residences," the elf stated surprisingly helpfully. "All other locations are only allowed to Floo call. As it should be, no need to allow filthy outsiders to besmirch and befoul the house of my Mistress and her ancestors!" he added, and Harry rolled his eyes at the elf's persistently negative attitude.

As if to emphasize the point, at that moment, the flames in the entrance hall fireplace suddenly flashed green and a head appeared where a particularly odd-shaped log had once been.

"Well that's odd," said the head confusedly, "I didn't mean to just make a call, I should've come straight through…" The head paused in thought, but then began to call out. "Hello, hello! Is anybody home?"

"Hermione!" exclaimed Harry, and he ran to sit in front of the fireplace. "What are you doing?"

"Hello, Harry, I was hoping you might be here! Isn't it so cool, I just got the Floo network installed at my house!" Hermione's face glowed spectacularly from the combination of extreme excitement and burning embers, but then she grew serious. "But listen, what's going on, Professors Dumbledore and Snape came to my house just now, demanding to know if I had been in contact with you or Tonks in the past few days. He seemed really urgent, Harry, has something gone wrong?"

"I'm not sure, Hermione, I had a really odd run-in with him today. How about if you come through so we can talk about it. Kreacher!" Harry yelled again, only to find that the elf had not left his side. "Could you tell me if there is any quick way to modify the Floo connection to allow another location to come through?"

"Kreacher could, but does not wish to enable a stuck-up Mudblood to enter the most Noble and Ancient House of Black!"

Harry was sorely tempted to _Crucio_ the elf for saying such things about his best friend, but did not want to do so in front of said best friend. Instead, he settled for glowering maliciously at the insolent serving beast and growled, "Kreacher, as Lord of the House of Black, I order you to tell me how to quickly grant my friend safe passage into this house through the Floo system!"

Kreacher sighed. He couldn't disobey a direct order from his master. "Fine, you great imbecile, you merely have to yell at the house to grant her passage." Kreacher followed this instruction with a lengthy series of muttered ruminations on the natural inferiority of the offspring of Mudbloods and blood traitors, but Harry wasn't paying attention. He had already directed the house to allow Hermione through, and moments later, the curly-haired brainiac was dumped unceremoniously out of the fireplace. The ungraceful nature of Hermione's arrival brought another round of scorn from the house-elf, but Harry helped her to her feet and gave Hermione a hug all the same.

"How are you doing, Hermione?" Harry asked warmly as they broke apart, but this was apparently the wrong question to ask.

"How the _bloody hell _do you think I'm doing!" cried Hermione, her mood shifting faster than a nervous student driver. "My Headmaster barges into my house demanding information about my best friend, who happened to have been on trial for _murder_; my other best friend, who is as dear to me as a brother, but _only_ as a brother, asks me out and then calls me a cheap harlot when I refuse! Meanwhile, 30 people, Muggles and wizards, have been killed in the past week by the forces of Lord Voldemort, and the Dementors, werewolves, vampires, and most of the giants seem ready to join him any second, meaning that number is likely to triple or even more! Fudge has somehow managed to stay in office, and although he now acknowledges Voldemort's return, he's not doing or preparing to do anything about it!" Hermione took a deep breath. "So I guess, in brief, I've had better weeks." She punctuated this sentence with a sarcastic little smile at the end and began to hum.

For his part, Harry was shocked. He couldn't recall Hermione ever giving such a violent outburst, although her fight with Ron following the Yule Ball may have rivaled this. Sensing his concern, Hermione resumed talking. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just been a really tough week." She gazed down at her feet, but quickly shot up to stare Harry in the eyes. "So tell me about this run-in, Harry."

And so Harry told the story of what had transpired that evening in and in front of Gringotts bank, with occasional input from Tonks, who knew something of Dumbledore's behavior over the previous three days. At the end, Harry explained to Hermione that he planned on training with Tonks there at Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer, a practice that hopefully could be continued during the school year. Hermione's response upon hearing this was immediate and to the point, "I want in."

"You do realize, Hermione, that this will mean you need to live here at Grimmauld Place?" asked Tonks.

"Yes of course I knew it meant that," snapped Hermione, "and I want to do it."

"You know it won't be easy, right?" asked Harry, and he was dignified only with a withering glare from his friend. "No, that's not what I meant," Harry added immediately, "I mean, of course you realize that training with an Auror wouldn't be a walk in the park, but I meant it won't be easy psychologically. I'm sure we're going to study and practice the Dark Arts, and I don't know how comfortable you are with that."

This did seem to give Hermione momentary pause, but she quickly worked through it. "Well, yes, if we're going to defeat the Death Eaters, it makes sense that we'll need to beat them at their own game. Stunners will only get us so far, after all. Besides," Hermione continued determinedly, "I'm not sure how secure Azkaban will be with all the Dementors gone, so if we were only to arrest them, we might be fighting them again the next day. This is a war, one where we cannot afford to take prisoners. I think I can put aside my reservations if it means we can win the war."

"Good," said Tonks, startling Hermione, who hadn't noticed the Metamorphmagus yet. "Then let's get started."

For the next week, Harry, Hermione, and Tonks spent most of their time in the library. It was a grand place, full of rich mahogany shelves, Persian rugs, gold-framed portraits of former Lords, and many a fireplace surrounded by couches and comfortable regency wing chairs, perfectly designed for curling up and reading well into the night. This was apparently the one part of the house Kreacher had not neglected during the Black Family's extended absence, as everything was polished, dusted, and looking brand new.

The books themselves were quite more diverse than Harry had expected. Instead of a library devoted entirely to the Dark Arts, which he expected from such an old, Dark-favoring family, what seemed like all the magical subjects were represented rather equally. There were portions of the library devoted to each of the Hogwarts subjects, as well as Warding, the Mind Arts, Animagi, Goblin Relations and Finance, Dealing with Muggles (strangely, at least for Harry, most books here did not describe favored methods of killing non-magical folk), and even a shelf of books written by Nicolas Flamel devoted to the subject of Alchemy. There was a rather extensive section on the Dark Arts, but Harry found that reading more than a few was redundant, most of the ones in English contained the same or similar curses (Harry didn't see much difference between the Intestine-Ripping Curse and the Disemboweling Hex), and each tome prefaced itself with a rather annoying bit approximating, "Magic is neither light nor dark, it is all about intent," followed by some silly anecdote about killing a wizard with a first-year spell. It was thought-provoking the first time Harry read it, but soon it had Harry wanting to explore the Necromancy section, so that he might reanimate the authors for the sole purpose of killing them. Yes, that would be highly satisfying.

Harry had not yet forgotten that amazing feeling he had gotten when he killed Uncle Vernon. It was a small, but almost ever-present thought in the very back of his mind. _That was fun. Maybe I'd like to do it again_.

He hadn't yet told Hermione or Tonks, nor anyone else, about this new feeling, and he doubted he ever would. To be honest, the thought frightened him greatly. _Since when do I want to kill people? This is totally against all that is decent and human!_

But still, he fantasized. Once, he had been sorely tempted to scratch this itch, when Kreacher had surprised him during a prolonged fireside reading of _Finding Your Inner Core_. He had jumped out of his chair at the popping noise, and instantly had his wand in the elf's face, a tiny pin-prick of sickly green light shining from the end of it.

But Hermione was there. He wouldn't kill a house-elf in front of Hermione. He wouldn't kill, _period_, in front of Hermione, he told himself furiously. But that little voice in the back of his head said, _Not yet._

_

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_**Author's Note** Ok, so thanks again to all the people who have reviewed the story so far, and another thanks to those who told me about the formatting error, I believe there were about 30 of you. Anyways, hope you like it, and please, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to PM me or, better still, bring it up on the discussion thread at The link is in my profile. Peace!


	4. Sorrow

AN: Hello, everyone, I'm terribly sorry this update was so long in the coming...(sighs)...it's hard out here for an AP student. Anyways, thanks so much for being patient, and hopefully this chapter was worth the wait.

Disclaimer: The owner of Harry Potter puts her story updates on shelves in bookstores all across the world. Mine are on It doesn't take a genius to figure this one out, kids...

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Chapter 3: Sorrow

"Fuck!" Harry Potter's voice rang through the halls of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

"Ass!" it came again, a short while later. Alerted by this unusual display of profanity, Tonks and Hermione rushed up the stairs and burst into the master bedroom. Inside, they were greeted with the view of an extremely disheveled-looking Harry fuming, head down, on his bed, tattered bottle-green robes hanging around his shoulders.

"My dress robes no longer fit," he stated simply, looking up and seeing the startled looks on the faces of the two women.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, "Harry, would you quit fooling around? We have to go!"

It was true. Sirius' Will Reading was due to begin in less than an hour, and Harry was only just getting ready. Frustrated by the air of helplessness her best friend was putting on, Hermione repaired and enlarged Harry's robe, then sent him a venomous look that plainly said, "Get dressed…NOW!"

"Alright, sheesh, Hermione. I'll get dressed. I don't see what the hurry is, though, we can take a Portkey and be there in half a second," Harry grumbled as he shooed the pair out of his room. In truth, the Wizarding World's speed and ease of transportation was not the real reason for Harry's slow preparations.

In truth, he was dreading returning to Gringotts and having to confront the reality of Sirius' death again, and this time in front of so many witnesses. He was afraid of Dumbledore, and the lengths to which the aged Headmaster might go to force him back to the "safety" of 4 Privet Drive. However, he was most afraid of what he might learn about those people in attendance.

Harry had been rather comfortable for the whole of his life, by taking people at face value. The Dursleys hit him, hence, the Dursleys were bad. His classmates from school teased him; they were bad also. Ron and Hermione were his best friends; they were good. Dumbledore was grandfatherly and protective; he also was good. The world had been much easier to sort out.

But after the incident in Diagon Alley, his view on Dumbledore had been shattered. He had known previously that the Headmaster could be a bit controlling, perhaps more so than he had a right to, but Harry would never think that Dumbledore would resort to violence to make Harry do something. And if Harry had been wrong about Dumbledore, what else had he been wrong about? Hermione? Ron? Voldemort, even? If everything he believed was wrong, Harry was fairly sure he didn't want to know it.

_But I _have_ to know_, thought Harry bitterly as he pulled on his robes. If he was going to survive, Harry knew that knowing who he could and could not trust was an absolute essential. He had to go to the reading.

_What if someone wants me to think they're trustworthy, though_, thought Harry, _they'll still probably act normally around me._ A dilemma. How could he be there without them knowing it?

Harry pondered this topic all the way to Diagon Alley (Hermione, having never ridden the Knight Bus, insisted on taking it, resulting in a thoroughly unnecessary 20 minute detour as it dropped off other passengers). Finally, outside of the Leaky Cauldron, it struck him.

"Tonks," he said, turning to the young Auror. "Disillusion me."

"Professional wrestling is faked," Tonks replied. "George W. Bush stole the American elections. Your face _won't_ freeze like that if you keep it that way too…" but Harry cut her off.

"No, damn it, cast a Disillusionment Charm on me!"

"Oh," said Tonks, looking rather abashed, and then she rapped Harry's head with her wand. Harry felt the familiar yet still uncomfortable sensation of a cracked egg running down his scalp and knew he had disappeared.

"OK, Tonks, Hermione, listen closely. I was grief-stricken over Sirius' death and decided not to come. Got it?"

His female housemates looked a touch confused, but agreed nonetheless. Tonks held open the door to the Leaky Cauldron, and allowed Harry to pass through. For the rest of the walk through Diagon Alley, Harry walked between the girls, figuring this to be the best way to avoid running into anyone and causing a panic. Finally, after three very close calls, they made it to Gringotts running a minute or two late.

The trio began looking around wildly, desperate to find the room where the reading would be held, and thankfully, there was a goblin waiting in the lobby for this very purpose.

"Ms. Granger and Ms. Tonks, I presume," said the goblin. It wasn't a question. "Good, now we can start the reading, if you will follow me." The goblin beckoned imperiously and began leading the three through the maze that was Gringotts bank. Finally, he stopped outside a tall, oak door bearing the legend "Reading Room" on a brass (or was it gold?) plaque at eye height.

The goblin rapped the door with his knuckles and it opened outward, nearly smashing Harry in the face. "Here you are Ms. Granger and Ms. Tonks, I wish you a good day." The goblin started to leave, but stopped and muttered, "And as for you, Lord Black-Potter, that is a most impressive Disillusionment Charm." Then the goblin strolled away as though nothing had happened, leaving the three to enter unassisted.

The Reading Room was a squat rectangular room, perhaps 100 feet long and 40 feet deep from the entrance. The walls and floors were all of Gringotts' signature white marble. At the end of the room directly opposite the foor was a long, highly polished, oak table, raised up slightly from the floor by a small, marble stage. The rest of the room was taken up by short, oaken stands, three or four rows high, and divided in the middle by an appropriately thick aisle. Torches hanging all along the walls gave the room a low, somber lighting.

As Tonks and Hermione were the last benefactors of the Will to arrive, the room was already relatively crowded. On the left sat a good number of the Order of the Phoenix, including all the Weasley family, Remus, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Snape, and, unsurprisingly, Professor Dumbledore.

_This must be a public reading_, thought Harry, knowing that the last four were not named in the Will.

Harry's thoughts on the matter were confirmed when he saw who was sitting on the right. There sat three people Harry knew Sirius would _never_ include, even had he not seen the Will before: Draco and Narcissa Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. The two Malfoys were sitting as far away from the Order members as possible, and occasionally shot murderous looks towards the group, and Dumbledore in particular. Blaise was sitting with Draco and looking entirely uninterested in all his occasional attempts at making conversation with her. She was staring intently at the door Harry, Tonks, and Hermione had just come through, as though waiting desperately for something.

Behind the table sat the five goblins who had been present at Harry's reading of the Will. Grabtooth sat in a throne-like chair at the center of the table, and upon seeing Tonks' and Hermione's entrance, he banged his gavel.

"Excellent," said the goblin, as he smoothed his expensive suit. "Now that all named parties in this Will are present, we can proceed with the reading."

Grabtooth adjusted his monocle and picked up the paper before him and opened his mouth as though to begin reading, but found himself cut off by Fred.

"Excuse me sir, but what about Harry Potter? Isn't he named? Don't we need to wait for him?"

Tonks spoke up at this, "Harry sends his regrets that he will be unable to attend, but he finds that it is too soon after Sirius' departure for him to face the divvying up of Sirius' assets. Harry sends his best regards to you all." Tonks gave the crowd a curt nod and sat down.

Grabtooth looked around to see if there were any more questions, and then began the reading of the will. As the goblin did so, Harry snuck off to a corner in the front of the room where he could study everyone's faces.

The first benefactor was Remus. When he heard his named called, the werewolf let a single tear trickle down his face, and was visibly biting his lip to stop a quivering that could be seen despite his efforts. His shaky composure died when he heard Sirius' condition on receiving the inheritance, and he let out a flood of tears at the last sentence, "Now go and have fun."

"I will, Padfoot," vowed Remus, his voice barely above a whisper, and a few years seemed to instantly melt off Remus' face.

Tonks was genuinely surprised when she learned the figure Sirius had left her. Harry had not told either of his housemates what they had inherited, or even his own figure, and Tonks, coming from a middle-class mixed blood household, was absolutely floored. She kept repeating, quietly, "Thank you, Sirius. Thank you, Sirius," like a mantra.

If Tonks was blown away, it was nothing compared to the reaction of the Weasley family upon hearing Arthur's portion. Charlie, Bill, and the twins sat, dumb-struck, jaws agape, completely incapable of moving. Ginny burst into tears and wailed something about not wanting the money, she wanted Sirius. Molly fainted dead away, and Arthur just looked at his feet. Ron, meanwhile, was sitting with his hand at his mouth, apparently trying and failing to hold in a smile.

Ron's smile grew broader as he heard Hermione's share. Hermione, meanwhile, merely nodded, stony-faced but downcast, and Harry heard her take a deep breath through her nose. His face fell like a stone, however, upon hearing his own share. _"500,000 Galleons!"_ Harry saw him mouth. An angry flash passed through the redhead's eyes and he glared murderously at Hermione. Suddenly, though, the eyes softened, and a calculating gleam replaced the fire.

Severus Snape had another interesting face to watch. He was rolling his eyes with each personal message, but each time a Galleon amount would be delegated, he winced, not as though from annoyance that Gryffindors were being given so much cash, but it was as though he saw each delegation as a personal affront. _What is this_, thought Harry, _He can't possibly have been expecting anything._

At the end of Reading, the Malfoy scion jumped to his feet almost before the goblin had finished the last sentence and yelled, "I contest this Will! The Black estate cannot go to Potter, he is not of Black blood!"

Grabtooth gave the blonde a withering stare. "Were you not paying attention, Master Malfoy? The money was left to Harry James _Black_-Potter. Lord Black-Potter was adopted by the late Lord Black prior to his death, making him completely eligible for this inheritance. Does anyone else have any idiotic complaints," the goblin finished snidely.

As it was, there were no more idiotic complaints, and the group began to file out. The Malfoys and Blaise left first, the first two plainly dealing with a great amount of anger. Blaise looked highly disappointed about something, though for the life of him, Harry couldn't fathom what that was about, either. _I don't even know her_, he thought, _how could she be expecting something from Sirius?_

Following them out were Dumbledore and the non-beneficiary Order members Shacklebolt, Moody, and Snape swept out, sticking close behind the Slytherins in case they started anything in their anger. Dumbledore wore the same expression Blaise had, but it seemed that more cogs were turning in his head than in the blonde's.

Tonks, Hermione, and the Weasleys were the last to leave the Reading Room, though Ron hung back slightly. The youngest Weasley male took hold of Hermione's upper arm as she walked through the door and led her off to the side; Harry moved to follow his best friends, but Grabtooth's voice held him back.

"Lord Black-Potter," said the goblin, just loud enough for Harry to hear but still soft enough that it did not carry in the acoustically tuned hall. "A message has arrived for you from the front desk." He motioned at a heavy envelope of ivory paper and subtly held it up for the young Lord's taking.

Harry walked back to the table and accepted the proffered envelope. Breaking the golden seal, Harry read the note inside.

_Dear Harry,_

_Ah, how you continue to evade me! I was hoping that you would be present today at your Godfather's Will Reading, because I have a matter of great import to discuss with you. It would not do to relay information of this nature in a note, nor would you likely believe this information without first-hand proof. Because of this, I ask that you meet me in The Leaky Cauldron on your birthday. I believe you are to be in Diagon Alley that day anyway for your parents' Will Reading, so I hope this will not inconvenience you too much. Thank you for taking the time to read this letter._

_Sincerely,_

_Blaise Zabini_

Harry handed the letter back to Grabtooth. "Any idea what this is about," he asked.

"None, milord," said Grabtooth, "Although I would advise you to attend the meeting, Ms. Zabini has been most persistent in trying to talk to you for some time now. If my memory serves me, she seemed quite keen to talk to you following the trial as well."

"True," nodded Harry, a pensive look on his face. It cleared after a moment, and Harry extended his hand to the goblin. "Thank you for all your help, Grabtooth. I hope one day I'll be able to reciprocate."

Grabtooth gave an affirming nod as he shook Harry's hand, and then led the goblins out a back door. Harry exited through the main door, nearly running into Ron and Hermione, who were arguing in the hallway.

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" said Ron, incredulous. "Why not?"

"Ron, for the last time, I'm _not _staying at the Burrow this summer! There's a lot of work to be done…"

"Work? Hermione, there's no summer homework this year! Last year was O.W.L.s, remember?"

"I didn't mean _school_ work, Ron. Harry needs to be training for the war, and I for one plan on helping him all I can! Besides that, how could you even _think_ I'd want to come to your home after the things you said about me."

"'Mione, I told you I'm sorry about that. Please, give me another chance."

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare try to use puppy-dog eyes on me, you're much too old for that to work!"

With that, Hermione whirled around and stomped off in the direction the rest of the group had gone.

Ron was fuming, and muttered angrily, "Won't go out with me, huh, well I'll show _her_!" He surreptitiously drew his wand and, after a glance each way down the hall, leveled it at Hermione. Ron opened his mouth to cast a spell, but before he could form the first syllable, a wand tip was poking his throat.

"Drop the wand, Ron," Harry growled, and his body shook with vindictive pleasure at having the boy powerless before him.

"H-Harry?" Ron stammered as he dropped the wand and looked wildly around for his assailant. "W-where are you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Disillusionment Charm, idiot. Now, care to tell me which spell you were about to cast on Hermione?"

"W-what are you talking about, Harry? I wouldn't curse Hermione, she's my b-best friend!" Ron attempted a sheepishly innocent grin. Attempted was the key word.

In response, Harry merely poked the wand harder into Ron's neck, making him gasp and sputter. Still getting no response, Harry stared into Ron's eyes and focused all his thoughts on one word: _Legilimens_.

Ron had no magical defenses around his mind, and Harry broke in easily. Once inside his former best mate's head, Harry thought, _Ron, I know you can hear this. I am inside your memories and I will find out which spell you were going to use on Hermione. If you tell me now and spare me the trouble of looking, however, you won't have a killer headache when I'm though. The choice is yours._

_Alright_, came Ron's grumbled reply, _it was going to be _Amor Infinitus.

Harry stumbled back in shock at the admission. _Amor Infinitus_ was a spell first invented by Greek patricians to bind their concubines, and had since been used for a wide variety of purposes, from jealous husbands bent on keeping their wives faithful and obedient, to Dark Lords wishing to ensure a completely loyal group of followers. Its use had been criminalized in 1755 with the Unforgivable Curses Declaration, which placed it on a level just below that of the Unforgivables. That Ron had even heard of the spell, let alone nearly used it, was so mind-bending that it was all Harry could do to remain in the redhead's mind.

Harry's disbelief did not last long, however, as it quickly gave way to boiling anger. He forcefully pulled out of Ron's mind and hissed dangerously in the redhead's ear, "You're coming with me!"

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Ron gave no resistance as Harry frog-marched him out of Diagon Alley. He made no motion to escape as Harry pushed him onto the Knight Bus and tipped Stan an extra four Galleons to visit Grimmauld Place first. Not even a single wild look entered his eye as Harry pulled him towards the edge of his London property.

But the moment Ron felt the tingle of the raised wards as Harry threw him across the threshold of the Black Estate, he started to panic. _Please tell me that wasn't a Magic Cloaking Ward_, Ron mentally begged, but he dared not ask aloud, for fear of angering Harry further.

Instead, Ron merely stared up into Harry's striking green eyes as his former best friend stood over him and raised his wand.

"You wished to harm my friend, Ron," said Harry with a calm that made vampires seem frisky. "I will no longer allow people to harm my friends."

Harry directed his wand at Ron's face, and Ron could see a small pinprick of red light starting to grow on the tip. Abruptly, the light went out, and Harry pulled his wand back toward his body.

Ron cracked a grin and began to sit up. "Good joke, Harry, I knew you wouldn't actually…" but then Ron's whole body went rigid and he fell back to the floor.

"I forgot," said Harry, still with the calm that should come only with death, "Mrs. Black hates loud noise." He jabbed his wand at Ron and cried, "_Silencio_!"

_Oh no_.

"I'm sorry, Ron," said Harry, and a single tear dropped from his eye onto Ron's cheek. Ron closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. It came a second later.

"_Crucio_!"

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AN: There you have it! Please review, you honestly have no idea how happy it makes me when I see those in my email. Just to clarify a few things in case anyone was wondering:

-For those of you who are already planning on telling me in your review that Tonks' comment about George W. Bush is anachronistic, you would be correct _if_ I were following the widely accepted fanon timeline that has Harry born in 1980 and starting school in 1992. The way I see it, J.K. Rowling has never established in her novels when precisely the action occurs and thus I feel free to reference the man. If I am wrong however, and someone would like to prove to me, using canon, that the fanon timeline is correct, I will of course duly note it, apologize for any anachronisms, and give you a shoutout on top of the next chapter.

-If anyone is having trouble picturing the Reading Room in their mind's eye, do a Google Image search for the main room of Princeton's Nassau Hall, and picture it done in marble rather than wood.

Again, thanks to those of you who have read the story, more thanks to those who have reviewed it, there are 137 of you at the time of this update and I love each of you to death, and as always, there is a complete discussion thread at Hopefully my next update won't take as long, school is starting on Wednesday, so I'm anticipating a light homework load for the next couple weeks. Until next time...


	5. The Library

Chapter Four: The Library**  
**

**Hogwarts Prefect Found Tortured by Death Eaters**

_ By Penelope Clearwater, Staff Writer_

In a gruesome attack sure to send shockwaves through the magical community, Ronald Weasley, 16, was found tortured to insanity behind a Knockturn Alley dumpster late last night, the Dark Mark floating over his body, Ministry officials say.

Weasley was rushed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where Healer Augustus Smethwyck promptly diagnosed Weasley with extreme overexposure to the Cruciatus Curse.

"Rarely have I seen a patient in this bad shape," said Smethwyck, who battled tears through the press conference. "That poor boy must have been tortured for hours."

The Ministry did not answer questions about which particular Death Eaters may have been behind the attack, although speculation is rampant that recent Azkaban escapee Bellatrix Lestrange may have been the culprit. Lestrange achieved international notoriety fourteen years ago when she led three other Death Eaters in an attack on Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, leaving the couple tortured to insanity.

No motive has been determined for the attack, although the Weasley family strongly opposed You-Know-Who in the first war, and has traditionally been known as fierce supporters of the Light. Also, several Hogwarts students have described Weasley as "the best friend" of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, raising speculation among many in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that the attack may have been retribution for Potter's role in capturing 11 Death Eaters and exposing You-Know-Who's return this June.

Potter has not yet issued a statement on the matter, and it is unclear whether he was informed of the attack.

"Ron Weasley was a fantastic individual," said a somber Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Weasley was a prefect who would have entered his 6th year at Hogwarts this September. He was Keeper of the Griffindor Quidditch team, and is chiefly credited with their winning of the House Championship this past year thanks to a brilliant performance in the final match.

The Weasley family refused repeated requests for interviews, but family friend…

Hermione could read no further. She violently threw _The Daily Prophet _down on the rough wooden table that took up most of Number 12 Grimmauld Place's kitchen, and pushed the vile rag away from her. This had to be a joke, it _had_ to be. Harry would come down for breakfast in a few minutes and he'd tell her it wasn't true, that he'd just spoken with Ron on the Floo. Hermione forced herself to believe everything would be all right.

But deep down, Hermione knew that this was no lie. One of her best friends was gone, as good as dead. He would rot, for the rest of his existence – for Cruciatus-induced insanity could not be reasonably described as life – in the Long-Term Care Ward, gazing emptily at the same spot on the ceiling, drooling slightly, maybe making a noise every so often to instill a sense of false hope in his well-wishers.

It was ironic, Hermione thought, that he would lay alongside Gilderoy Lockhart, whose Memory Charm would have landed Ron in that same ward some three years ago, had his broken wand not backfired. Hermione's eyes misted up as she thought of all the misadventures and near-disasters she and Ron had gotten into as they tried to support Harry in his quest for…what was Harry questing for? Truth? Justice? Vengeance? Hermione knew that it was not the eradication of the Dark, at least not anymore. She could see the gleam he sometimes got in his eye when he looked at Kreacher, and knew Harry would eventually bring himself to use the Dark Arts against the elf. He might not have to do that much _bringing_ at all, she mused, thinking of Vernon's fate.

And yet, somehow, Hermione could not bring herself to care. She still held her S.P.E.W. views that the elves should be liberated and treated as equals, but this one…Kreacher…

She repressed a shudder as she thought of the depths of the elf's betrayal. Though it hadn't showed much on the outside, Hermione really did care for Sirius. Much in the way her own friendship with Harry and Ron had begun with the troll incident, there was something about helping to literally save a man's soul that created an inexorable bond between the two. It was the reason she had received 500,000 Galleons more inheritance than Ron. Which was why Ron had flipped out at the Will Reading…

Hermione's fist shook as she grounded it into the table. What right did that no-class, no talent, ill-bred halfwit have to speak to her that way? Who was he to call her "a Knut whore," because she wouldn't go out with him? As if _anyone_, let alone her, would defile their body for such a paltry amount!

If she was honest with herself, Hermione would admit there had been a time when she was mildly attracted to Ron, but that was back when she thought she was too ugly and bookish to get anyone else. Seeing the look on the boys' faces at the Yule Ball had been enough to strip her of that notion, though, and ever since, Ron had completely fallen off her love radar. Lately, she had taken to viewing the boy as little more than poor comic relief, a distraction from what was truly important at a time when it was vital to stay focused on the task at hand.

Plus, there were all the things he said about Harry in his "Knut whore" rant. All those horrible, mean, nasty, rotten, vile things. Hermione shuddered with barely controlled rage. How many times had Harry saved his life? How many times had Harry not taken the easy way out and instead taken the difficult stand for what was right? How many times had Harry distinctly said that he didn't want the fame, the fortune, the "fabulous" lifestyle? But despite all that, Ron insisted on his petty jealousies and refused to grow up and see the man Harry was, not the spoiled warrior prince Ron's mind had made him to be.

Hermione was suddenly thrust back into her memory, to the Triwizard Tournament, when Ron turned his back when Harry needed him the most. To the Yule Ball, when Ron lambasted her date and his former idol, Viktor Krum, blaming the Bulgarian for his own timidity in asking her out. To the entirety of the last year, when Ron burdened her with his responsibilities as Prefect, and then still had the gall to ask to copy her homework. What a fickle and mean-spirited boy!

Perhaps he had it coming. Maybe Ron deserved the fate meted out to him by the Death Eaters. It was poetic justice, Hermione observed. The Cruciatus Curse attacked the mind, deceiving it into believing the body was undergoing intense torture, much in the way Ron's disbelief in fourth year attacked Harry's deep-rooted mental scars from his isolation at the Dursleys'. In this way, might Ron's attackers have been _right_?

Hermione was pulled out of her musings by the sound of Harry's slippered feet coming down the long staircase to the kitchen. "Hey Hermione," he said, looking down upon his best friend with a warm grin. "How are you doing?"

Though her eyes were directed up at him, Hermione seemed downcast to Harry. He finished his descent of the stairs and walked to where she sat. "What's wrong," Harry asked, his eyes full of concern.

"Harry, something…" Hermione trailed off, trying to come up with the correct adjective, "something _terrible_ happened."

"What's that?" asked Harry, though he knew what was coming. Ron's fate would outweigh anything else that may have happened yesterday.

"Its Ron, he…he…" Hermione's voice was hesitant, and her eyes betrayed her fear of a violent reaction from Harry. "He was tortured. By Death Eaters."

Harry arranged his face into a look of shock, and let out a slow breath. "How bad is he?"

"As bad as the Longbottoms."

_I may have gone a bit far_, Harry thought as he faked a horrified gasp. _I really only meant for him to lose it enough that he wouldn't remember his attacker…oh well_.

Harry set his face with steely determination and stared hard into Hermione's eyes. "Well then we'll have to keep fighting to avenge him," Harry said coldly. "And to do that we'll have to keep learning; come on up to the library, we're due to start with Tonks any minute now."

Hermione took Harry's outstretched hand and used it to help herself stand. The pair walked together back up the stairs and entered the library through its grand French doors. The teens walked up the library's Persian-rugged and gas-lighted central lane to the far wall. There, sitting in the room's signature wing chairs in front of a roaring fire, were Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"How did you get in here?" Harry asked, his hand instantly drifting toward his wand. Harry was none too pleased to see Aurors in his house just a day after having used an Unforgivable Curse.

"Hello, Harry, it's good to see you too," said Kingsley grinned through his rich baritone. He turned to Moody, "My, my, it's not every day we get a greeting like that, is it Mad-Eye?"

"Aye, no it's not," grumbled the ex-Auror, focusing his real eye on Kingsley while his electric blue magical one whizzed around in its socket. "Damn the Blacks," he muttered as a high-pitched buzzing interrupted the beginning of his next sentence. He retrieved a Sneakoscope from the pocket of his robes. "Damn thing has gone off three times since we've been here."

"You still haven't answered my question," said Harry, his voice hard, his hand now clutching the handle of his wand. "How did you get here? The house is supposed to be sealed. And while you're at it, please explain _why_ you are here."

Moody chuckled appreciatively, the ugly scar that was his mouth twisted into what Harry could only guess was supposed to be a smile. "I see you haven't forgotten to practice your _CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_" The last two words were inexplicably yelled, startling Harry and causing him to draw his wand. Moody smirked at the pinprick of sickly green light that had briefly flashed on the end of Harry's wand. "Interesting, Potter, very interesting," was his only muttered comment.

"I invited them here," said Tonks, who stood up from her chair and moved toward Harry and Hermione. "I've had you two studying in this library for a week now, but book learning can only take us so far."

Ignoring Hermione, who made signs of wanting to protest, Tonks continued. "If you want to do any good in your battle against Voldemort, you will need books, yes, but also the know-how to apply the theory and survive. No one, not even Dumbledore, has survived more fights than Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley here isn't the youngest Auror Captain since 1832 for nothing. Before you sit two of the most accomplished duelers in all England, and – just your luck – they both are willing and eager to impart unto you their knowledge," she finished in a haughty, superior tone, and morphed her appearance to that of a stereotypical old librarian.

Kingsley gave Tonks a look as he rose imperiously from his chair. "Right," he said uncertainly, more than a little confused by her new appearance. "So, I think before we try to teach you anything, we'll need to test your current level. Duel me, Harry." Shacklebolt waved his wand and the bookshelves – along with Moody, Tonks and Hermione - flew away from the pair. Another wave and a dome of energy enveloped the room.

Harry assumed a fighting stance and thought briefly about what his first spell would be. Before he was ready, however, Moody yelled, "GO!" and Kingsley fired a stunner right at Harry's chest. The youth dove to left to avoid the curse and sent a stunner back at Kingsley, who blocked it and with a well-placed "_Incarcerous!_" incapacitated the boy.

The tall, black Auror smirked. "Come on, Harry! A first year could do better than that! We're going to try again, but this time try harder." Kingsley released the ropes and let Harry stand up again before freezing the ground beneath his feet. Harry immediately slipped and crashed hard on the ice. Shaking his head, Kingsley stunned the boy and quickly _Enervate_d him again.

"The good duelist, Harry, does not rely merely upon curses. A little creativity is good, yeah?"

Harry merely snarled and gave Kingsley a murderous look, but before he could do anything about his anger, Harry found himself suspended upside down and being pummeled with conjured rocks.

Irate, Harry cried "_Finite Incantatem!_" and landed, cat-like, in a crouch. A Furnunculus Curse, Blasting Hex, Full-Body Bind, and "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" later, and Harry was floating, powerless and winded, with a face covered in boils.

"You waste too much time striking dramatic poses, Harry," Kingsley lectured to the immobilized boy. "In the time it took you to land and look up at me menacingly – ah, yes, just like that – a Death Eater could have killed you four times over. There are no cameras here, Harry, and there won't be when you go into actual battle, either. And even if there were, no heroic lighting will change the fact that you died and the other guy lived."

Here, Kingsley leaned into Harry's ear and whispered fiercely, "I know you love dramatics and all that, Harry, and I know some day a huge statue of you will draw visitors from the world over, and that's all fine and _fucking_ wonderful. But if you think for a _second_ that I'm impressed with all your little escapades, think again. To me, you're nothing than a snotty-nosed little kid who's gotten too big for his britches after a few lucky shakes with the Dark Lord. Now when I release these curses, I want you to fight me like a man." Kingsley stalked away and flipped a "_Finite Incantatem!_" haughtily over his shoulder.

Harry was seeing red. Angrily, he jabbed his wand in Kingsley's direction and started shouting curses he read about that week.

"_Abscindo Venas!"_

"_Carnificina!"_

"_Diffindo!"_

"_Deliquesco ossis!"_

"_Reducto!"_

The sheer force of Harry's magic overwhelmed Kingsley, and though the Auror's shield held, the force of the impacts sent him flying through the collapsing bubble and into a shelf, knocking dozens of books from their places, and it was all he could do to roll away from the rest of Harry's onslaught.

Meanwhile, Harry stalked over to the writhing heap that was Kingsley, his rage palpable in every step. His mind barely registered the shock and awe plastered all over Tonks' and Hermione's dropped jaws; all he knew was a burning, all-consuming desire to make this man suffer. Harry stopped his advance ten feet from Kingsley, and stood covering the man with his wand. Then, with a whisper more deadly than a nuclear bomb, Harry showed Kingsley just how much he hated Snape, Fudge, Umbridge, Ron, and Vernon – all those who habitually spoke ill of him and misconstrued his feelings toward his fame.

"_Crucio!"_

* * *

Kingsley had never known pain like this. All Aurors were subjected to the Cruciatus Curse early in their training – it was a fine way to separate the weak from the strong at the onset. His tormenter had been strong, but nothing like this. 

Another time, about a year later, he had been drunk and made the mistake of making a pass at Barty Crouch's wife, who was quite a looker before the illness. Crouch, who was drunk too, became incensed and put Kingsley under the curse for a second before remembering himself. Crouch had been strong, but nothing like this.

The last time Kingsley had been under the Cruciatus Curse was during a routine raid on Borgin and Burke's, the infamous Knockturn Alley store known to cater to the needs of Death Eaters. Kingsley had gotten a little too close to a secret compartment that held some illegal potion or other and Mr. Burke, the co-proprietor, got a little antsy. Burkes, who would be sentenced to life in Azkaban, had been strong, but nothing like this.

As a primal scream ripped from Kingsley's lungs, he thought, _Well, looks like the motivation tactic worked…_

And then unconsciousness mercifully took the Auror out of his pain.

* * *

Hermione knew, one way or another, this duel wouldn't turn out well. As Kingsley began humiliating Harry, she saw Harry's familiar helplessness overwhelm him. _It's the Dursleys' fault_, thought Hermione angrily as Kingsley flipped Harry upside down._ Their abuse often shamed Harry, so he still doesn't respond well to it_. She cringed as the stones began slamming into Harry's chest. _No, this isn't going to end well at all_. 

But then a wave of _something_ washed over Harry's features. His green irises seemed to stand more out more vividly than usual; indeed, all of Harry's body seemed to come into a sharper focus. The library had suddenly become like an image from television, only for some reason, Harry was being broadcast in HD.

She stared as Harry began pounding Kingsley with the powerful curses they had studied the past week and marveled at how excellently he performed them without having had any practice. Harry had never taken to any form of magic this quickly; Hermione was frankly bamboozled by how Harry could be doing this.

Then, Hermione saw it: that cruel gleam Harry sometimes got when he looked at Kreacher, the same gleam she had pondered not ten minutes previously. Was she right? Was it indeed Harry's omen of malice, his personal precursor to violence?

Hermione did not hear Harry speak the incantation, but knew instantly from the jet of red light that issued from his wand and the bestial scream that ripped from Kingsley's body which curse it was. She gasped, then watched in horrid fascination as the Auror thrashed and struggled in his torment. It was very easy to hate the concept of the Dark Arts in the abstract, academic realm as she had for all these years. But this, coming face-to-face with arguably the worst of the Unforgivable Curses for the first time, this was something entirely different. There was almost _beauty_ in the way Kingsley flailed, shrieked, and writhed; Hermione hated to think of it with that term but instantly knew the truth of it.

While Hermione was transfixed by Kingsley's torment, Mad-Eye Moody decided to end it. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" he yelled, and Harry fell sideways, stiff as a board, and knocked over another bookshelf. Moody limped across the room to Kingsley and helped him stand up shakily before releasing his spell on Harry.

Harry scrambled to his feet and stared at Moody with wide and fearful eyes. He had forgotten himself. He had used an Unforgivable Curse in front of three members of the Order and – potentially worse – in front of Hermione. The best possible outcome of this would be they would refuse to teach him any more, but all kinds of other nasty scenarios could play out, too. Hermione might never be friends with him again, Tonks might stop sheltering him from Dumbledore, he might be expelled from –

"Not bad, Potter," said Moody softly, cutting across Harry's thoughts, "although you may want to refrain from the Cruciatus Curse in battle situations; it tends to distract you and thus leave you open to attack from behind." Both of his eyes, magical and mundane, were boring into Harry's. Being examined in this way was quite as uncomfortable as the fear still gripping Harry's heart.

"I – I – I'm terribly s-sorry, P-P-Professor," stammered Harry, his mind racing wildly for a way to excuse his action. "I didn't mean – "

"Of _course_ you meant to, Harry," said Kingsley as firmly as he could after his round of torture. "You can't perform the Cruciatus Curse at all unless every bit of you desires to. But not to worry," he added hastily, for Harry's head was beginning to droop, "I am not angry with you at all. Quite the contrary, in fact."

"Really," gasped Harry, perking up at this.

"Indeed, this marks a great step forward in your magical development," interjected Moody. He continued at Harry's perplexed look. "Dumbledore set out, from the very moment you defeated Voldemort in the first war, to instill within you an instinctive loathing of all the Dark Arts. Although the protection given you by your mother's sacrifice is indeed great, Dumbledore placed you with the Dursleys because he knew of their immense greed and materialism, and knew they were unlikely to treat you well. Greed is the primary reason witches and wizards go Dark, so Dumbledore's wish was for you to associate greed with the abuse you were sure to suffer at the hands of Vernon and Petunia, and it worked, did it not?"

Harry nodded, remembering his first meeting with Draco Malfoy, who had instantly reminded him of Dudley. Moody continued.

"Dumbledore, of course, is not a man who installs just one plan and prays for it to work on its own. No, he has used many other covert methods to stop you becoming Dark. Tell me, boy, how was it you met the Weasley family?"

Harry recounted the tale of his first trip to King's Cross Station, when he had heard Mrs. Weasley asking her children to remind her how to get on the platform.

"Did you ever think that was odd, boy?" asked Moody, almost incredulously. "Did you ever wonder why you weren't told how to access Platform 9 ¾ ? Or wonder why Mrs. Weasley would need reminding how to get on, having seen at least one of her children through that barrier for ten consecutive years, not to mention that she herself is a Hogwarts graduate?"

Harry started to say something, but Moody cut him off. "No, of course you didn't. Why would you? At the time, you didn't know anything about the Weasley family and even if you did, why should you care what led to them taking you in? You had never had a friend before in your life until that point, so were you going to look a gift hippogriff in the beak? No.

"This was another of Dumbledore's plans, of course. The Weasleys are, bless them, wonderful people, but Molly in particular reveres Dumbledore more than most Death Eaters revere Voldemort. They also have a famous aversion to the Dark Arts, fueled mainly by a centuries-old feud with the Malfoy family. It does not burn as hot as it once did – they no longer engage in open battle – but the deep-seated hatred is still there. The feud was once an integral part of Wizarding folklore, in fact, much like that between the American Muggle families Hatfield and McCoy."

"Why did I never know about this," demanded Harry. He turned to Hermione, who had been strangely quiet. "Did you know about this fight?"

"I had heard some vague stories about it," said Hermione, "and Ron mentioned something about it once…" She broke off and grimaced, recalling the horrible misfortune of their friend, but recovered. "This sounds like the kind of thing we would have learned about in History of Magic, though, if it were as big as you make it out to be."

"You would," said Kingsley, "if you stayed on and took N.E.W.T. History, although with Binns as the professor…it's a wonder even I made it through, and I love History."

"Making sure you were close to the Weasleys was an important aspect of Dumbledore's plan," said Moody, returning to the subject. "As your first contacts in the magical world, they would introduce you to Wizarding values, including their own hard-line stance against the Dark Arts. The Weasleys' feud with the Malfoys provided an added bonus: if you befriended them, it would instantly put you at odds with Draco."

"But Draco and I wouldn't be friends anyway!" Harry protested. "Obnoxious wannabe-Death Eater git," he added under his breath.

"Don't be so sure," said Moody. "If you look at it objectively, you and he have a great deal in common. You come from old, rich, ennobled Pureblood families, you share a great deal of talent at Quidditch, and were it not for the façade of arrogance Draco feels he must keep up to impress his idiotic peers, he would be quite as powerful a wizard as you."

"But Malfoy's a miserable Seeker!" said Harry, who was desperately searching for other rebuttals to Moody's claims. He didn't like the idea of being compatible with Malfoy at all.

"A miserable Seeker, yes," conceded Moody, "but I bet you didn't know he was heavily scouted by the Tutshill Tornadoes when he played Chaser for the Wiltshire Waddlers Junior League team at age nine. My theory is that he switched to Seeker mainly as a result of his rivalry with you; he wanted to beat you at your own game.

"No matter what level of compatibility you might have with Draco, Dumbledore wished to ensure that it never developed into a friendship or alliance of any sort. Obviously, the Malfoys have no qualms about using the Dark Arts, and had Draco or Lucius met you before the Weasleys – or Hagrid, for that matter – there's little doubt they would have passed at least some of their beliefs on to you.

"Dumbledore had a number of other ways of ensuring you would not be tempted by even the smallest of Dark curses – Hagrid played large roles in many of them – and, so it seems, they worked beautifully until very recently. Correct me if I'm wrong, Potter, but until your little episode with Bellatrix Lestrange earlier this month was the first time you succumbed to the temptation to use the Dark Arts?" Moody asked, his piercing gaze forcing Harry to stare directly into the old, battle-scarred face.

"Yes," Harry agreed, "but I had still _wanted_ to, hadn't I? There was a good long while when I wanted to kill Sirius more than anything, and even held him under my wand ready to do it. So I wasn't pure after all!"

"It is our choices that show what we truly are," quoted Kingsley, an odd ethereal note breathing through his rich voice. "I trust you've heard that line before? It's a quaint little chestnut that Dumbledore likes to use often, but its also very true. You had every reason to kill Sirius that night and almost no reason not to. As did the rest of the world, you believed him to be a mass murderer, a Death Eater, and the man responsible for the slaying of your parents. If you killed him, you would have received a 10,000 Galleon reward and become an even greater celebrity than you already were. Even if you didn't know the Killing Curse yet, you were more than capable of producing a burst of pure magic that would have ripped him apart. There was no one and nothing to stop you killing Sirius that night, _except yourself_. You could not bring yourself to kill him, in spite of all the incentive to do so. That, Harry, is all the evidence you need to know that Dumbledore had succeeded, and you were pure as a snowflake."

"Returning to the point," said Moody, "your use of the Cruciatus Curse against Kingsley proves that your attacks on Vernon and Bellatrix were not flukes. You have thrown off the last vestiges of Dumbledore's anti-Dark Arts brainwashing attempt, and are now ready to become a useful fighter against the Dark."

"But I already _am_," began Harry hotly, but Moody cut him off.

"You have proven yourself a valuable nuisance for Voldemort," said Moody. "You have been courageous beyond anything that could have possibly been expected. But your insistence on using Stunners and _Expelliarmus_ held you back considerably. Both spells can be useful in certain scenarios, when the main objective is to capture Death Eaters for questioning, but in pitched battle the pair are essentially useless. Most Death Eaters in the last war carried at least one spare wand, making disarming them almost pointless, and obviously a Stunned Death Eater can be Enervated the second he goes down."

"Dark spells and curses, by contrast, give us the means to permanently incapacitate Death Eaters in a battle setting," said Kingsley, expanding Moody's point. "There are certain properties in Dark magic that inhibit the body's ability to heal. For example, if you lose a finger to the regular cutting spell, _Diffindo_, the Healers at St. Mungo's can reattach it or grow it back with Skele-Gro. Conversely, lose a finger to the Dark cutting spell, _Sectumsempra_, and its gone for good. No one really understands why; the Unspeakables study the issue heavily but haven't come up with anything yet. But in the end, it really doesn't matter why, it only matters _that_. The Death Eaters do not hesitate to use these spells against us, so we must be willing to use them too, lest we be on uneven footing."

"What's the point of fighting them then?" asked Harry, who thought he knew, but had to be sure. "What are we fighting against if not the Dark Arts?"

"We're fighting for democracy, Harry!" said Kingsley, more than a little exasperatedly. "We're fighting for the rule of law, for the freedom of wizards, and against the extermination of Muggles. Most of all, though, we're fighting for the continued survival of wizardkind. Do you realize what would happen if Voldemort and the Death Eaters managed to kill off all the half-bloods and Muggleborns? Entirely pureblood families are a dying breed; without any other magical mates, they would all be entirely interbred within five generations. Six generations later, their genes would weaken to the point where they could no longer sustain magic. We would become a race of Squibs."

"Oh," was Harry's rather meek reply.

"Right, we've made good headway today, Potter," said Moody. "Kingsley and I will be coming over twice a week until school starts up again, at which point we'll have to devise a new schedule. Practice what we teach you with Hermione and Tonks when we're not here, and you'll be a fine warrior before long. We'll take our leave now." With that, Kingsley and Moody abruptly started toward the library door.

"Wait!" Hermione cried, rushing over to prevent their departure. "How did you find out all that about Dumbledore and all?"

Moody's aged, battle-scarred face tilted down toward Hermione, and the ugly gash that was his mouth stretched into a smirk. "You didn't think Harry was the only reason Molly and Sirius fought, did you? Sirius agreed with Kingsley and I that we needed to use the Dark Arts against the Death Eaters, 'fight fire with fire,' as he always said. I've already told you about the Weasley's famous aversion to using those spells. Molly and Sirius got into a fierce argument about it one night in the middle of an Order meeting last December, and Molly let slip that Dumbledore wanted an example set for you. Sirius pieced together the rest over the next six months and told us when we signed on as witnesses to his Will. I got the feeling he had something else to say, but at that moment, Snape called to rally troops for the Department of Mysteries battle," Mody added, his scarred brow wrinkling further in apparent thought. After just a moment, however, he motioned to Kingsley and the pair completed their departure.

"Well," said Harry, who was struggling to retain his composure after being reminded of Sirius. He looked wildly around the room for something to say. "We should…er…should…"

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Tonks softly, gliding as gracefully as she could to his side.

"I'm _fine_," he almost yelled, "it's just…we should clean up that mess over there!" Harry indicated the knocked-over shelves and books scattered all over the corner where he had dueled Kingsley. He turned away from the girls to begin the cleanup, but not before he caught them sharing a concerned look. He ignored it.

The three began to put the room back together. Tonks offered to clear up everything with "a single wave" of her wand, but Harry and Hermione, fearing a catastrophe, said it would be more fun to do it by hand. After the bookshelves were set up in their proper spaces, they began replacing the books, glancing at the covers and skimming the contents as they did so. They worked in relative silence for about twenty minutes until Hermione's voice cut through the air.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, holding aloft a small, brown book. "Harry, Tonks, come look at this, it must be ancient!"

Harry strolled to her side and took the book into his own hands. It _did_ look very old. The beaten and splotched leather cover was crudely attached to a thick piece of wood that served as a spine. The pages were of parchment, yellowed and torn by years of use. There was no title. It was the shabbiest thing Harry had ever seen in this glitzy library, save the time Kreacher had come grumbling in to make sure they weren't throwing things out.

Harry handed the book back to Hermione, who asked, "What do you suppose it is?"

"I don't know, why don't you open it and see?"

She hesitated, and Harry thought he understood why. They had encountered old books like these in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library, most of which were highly unpleasant either in their content or demeanor. Harry himself would never forget the book he opened during his first year that had literally screamed and given away his presence while he was looking for information on Nicholas Flamel.

"It's okay," said Tonks, reassuringly. "The Blacks were usually a nasty bunch, but they would never keep a book in the house that might inadvertently hurt one of the children."

Slightly mollified, Hermione opened the book, flinching as she did so. Nothing happened. Relieved, all three leaned in to try and read the first page.

"I don't understand it," said Tonks, staring at the single line of flowing script with incredulity.

"Nor do I," said Hermione, looking equally perplexed. "That's not the English alphabet, nor is it any Ancient Rune I've studied before…isn't this odd, Har – Harry what's wrong?" she cried.

Harry's eyes were wide with a mixture of amazement and fear. He stared at the page, not daring to believe what had just happened. As he scanned the page, his brain couldn't comprehend the strange, loopy symbols any more than Hermione or Tonks. But as his eyes reached the last glyph, a soft hissing voice seemed to emanate from the book itself.

"_Here lies the collected writings, teachings, and discoveries of Salazar Slytherin."  
_

* * *

**Author's notes:** Alright, so there you have it! The latest chapter, just over a year in the making! I want to apologize once again for keeping you guys waiting for so long, I've posted a lame series of excuses and explanations on my profile if you're interested.

In my Author's notes at the end of last chapter, I challenged anyone to prove the fanon timeline to me, using canon. A number of you pointed out that in the second book, Nearly Headless Nick celebrates his 500th Deathday, saying that he was killed in 1492. This, of course, means that the action of the second book takes place in 1992-1993, and we can infer other dates from there. However, in the first book, on page 123 of the American hardcover, Nearly Headless Nick tells Harry "I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years." If we follow this timeline, then we can pinpoint the action of the series as taking place around 1890, assuming that Nick's deathdate of 1492 is correct. Obviously, that was sarcasm; there is no way the series could possibly take place in the 19th Century, or really, at any point before the late 20th Century. My point is this: J.K. Rowling intentionally left conflicting clues on how when the action takes place, precisely because we _shouldn't_ know. A large part of the appeal and joy of Harry Potter is that we imagine that it is in the present, that this magical world continues to thrive all around us, and that we ourselves might come in contact with its characters. But thank you again to all those who took the time to tell me why the timeline is the way it is.

I really have been stunned by the overwhelming response to this fic. If you don't know, this story has now recieved 209 reviews (almost entirely positive reviews, and not a single flame), been placed on 170 of your Favorites lists, is included in 174 C2 groups, and 471 of you recieved an alert when I posted this chapter. All of it means a tremendous deal to me, and I thank each and every one of you who has taken time out of your day to read my writing.

Now to respond to some of your reviews:

**Bobboky:** First of all, I appreciated your review because you really thought out what you were saying. I think from this chapter you can see that even though Harry is using the Dark Arts, he isn't neccesarily evil...yet. I haven't entirely decided which side Harry will ultimately reside on, but for the time being, he maintains his core belief in democracy and freedom for all.

**Jsdailey:** You took the words right out of my mouth

**Ranger Dragen: **If I told you that, I'd spoil all the fun! Keep reading to find out what happens

**PG Hammer:** It'll be a chapter or two before you find out what happens with Blaise

**All those who wrote to say Ron got what was coming to him:** I'm glad we agree.

Until next time...


	6. Slytherin's Hope

Opening A/N: Hello again, everyone! It has been forever and a half since I updated this story, and I fervently apologize for that. I've finally got the ball rolling on where I want this story to go, so our next break will not be nearly so long. I hope you enjoy...

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling ceased updating the Harry Potter series in July 2007. I present you with a new installment in March 2008. Infer what you will.

* * *

Chapter Five: Slytherin's Hope

Confusion. Harry Potter's brain was filled with it. Why would Salazar Slytherin's ancient manuscript be here, in the Black family's London Estate? Voldemort was the last descendant of Slytherin, wasn't he? Surely, Harry would have heard about it if this book were widely circulated, so it must be an heirloom, right?

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Hermione, who asked again, "Can you read it, Harry?"

He looked up at her, eyes still wide. "Yes," he breathed. "It's Slytherin's!"

"Slytherin's?" she asked, skeptical. "How do you know?"

"It just told me so, I think its been enchanted to speak Parseltongue. Turn the page, I want to see if it does it again."

Hermione turned the page, and again there was a series of intricately swirling lines, although this time they seemed to be organized in a list. As Harry's eyes skimmed down, he once again heard the voice.

"_Table of Contents._

_Section One…How Muggles and Mudbloods Endanger Wizardkind_

_Section Two…Discourses on the Natural Superiority of Pureblood Wizards_

_Section Three…Ruminations on the Formation of the Hogwarts School_

_Section Four…On the Art and Practical Applications of Conversing with Snakes_

_Section Five…A Discussion of the Nature and Proper Methods of War_

_Section Six…Of New Spells, Potions, and Invocations_

"This is incredible," breathed Hermione after Harry repeated the voice's reading. "This must be one of the most important finds in Wizarding history! All of Slytherin's writings were supposed to have been lost in the Great Hogwarts Fire of 1229!" At Harry and Tonks' incredulous looks, Hermione sighed, "One of these days, I swear I'll _force_ you to read _Hogwarts, A History_."

"True, but isn't it more curious that we found the book here?" asked Harry, ignoring Hermione's last comment. He turned to Tonks. "I mean, it's not like the Blacks were in Slytherin's line, right? Voldemort is supposed to be the last descendant."

"We could check the family tapestry for some kind of link," said Tonks thoughtfully, "But I'm sure if there were anything I would have heard about it from my mother, she was constantly telling us of the misdeeds of our ancestors and warning us not to turn out like they did. If there was ever a wizard who would've raised her ire, it was Salazar Slytherin."

"Just because he wanted to keep Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?" asked Harry. "I mean, that's not good but I'm sure the Black family has done worse."

"They have," agreed Tonks, "and if you want, I could tell you hours worth of stories about the nefarious ways they amassed that colossal fortune you just inherited. But as bad as they may have been, Slytherin was much worse. He loved nothing more than causing the deaths of Muggles on gigantic scales. You may have heard about the Crusades when you went to Muggle school," Tonks asked.

"I don't remember much, but I have heard of them," said Harry, nodding.

Tonks adopted a scholarly tone. "Well, you may recall that the First Crusade was sparked in essence by a sermon Pope Urban II in 1095 to an assembly of French nobility known as the Council of Clermont. In this sermon, Urban told of the plight of Emperor Alexius I Comnenus, leader of the Byzantine Empire, whose territory was being overrun by Arab conquerors. Borrowing St. Augustine of Hippo's justification for a holy war, Urban implored the nobles to stop the petty feuds between them and combine their forces to fight the 'infidels' who had conquered Jerusalem and were encroaching on another Christian state.

"Under any normal circumstances, this speech would not have gone over well. The French were largely as adverse to full-scale war then as they are today, and had no particular economic interests in the continued existence of the Byzantines, who, frankly, were in nowhere near as much danger as Urban made them out to be. It is quite likely that, had there been no external interference, the idea of Crusades would have died that night.

"However Slytherin, who was nearing the end of his life and looking for one last way to strike the Muggles, got word that this conference was to take place from his wealthy English acquaintances, who were much more up-to-date with the Muggle world than their modern equivalents. For all his misconceptions about Muggles, Slytherin understood the way religious figures can make Muggles commit horrendous acts they would never consider otherwise. So, recognizing the potential this sermon had, Slytherin attended the Council disguised as a monk and began systematically Confunding key members of the audience. As Urban reached the part of his sermon where he began his call for war, the bewitched nobles began yelling '_Deus lo volt!_' Latin for 'It is God's will!' Their passion stirred the rest of the congregation, and soon the whole assembly was chanting the slogan. War was inevitable from that point onward, and Slytherin died happily just a few years later, having successfully sparked a series of wars that would continue for two centuries, one of the bloodiest conflicts in human history."

"That's incredible," breathed Harry, who was grudgingly awed by the evil genius Slytherin displayed in this tale. "I thought Slytherin was killed in a duel with Gryffindor though," he asked, looking quizzically at Hermione, whose face displayed a similar mix of disgust and amazement.

Seeming to snap out of it, Hermione shook her head. "That's a common myth," she said. "In reality, Slytherin and Gryffindor did have a duel over whose philosophy would carry in Hogwarts, which Gryffindor obviously won. But Slytherin left that duel very much alive."v

"Anyways," said Tonks, who plainly missed having attention for a reason other than setting off Mrs. Black's portrait, "I'm sure if the Blacks were in Slytherin's line, I would have heard all about that story and many others from my mother. As it was, I learned all that from N.E.W.T. History of Magicvi, which means I'm just as lost as you are as to how this book got herevii. It would certainly seem to be the kind of thing to be handed down by the generations. We should probably put it back though, if it speaks Parseltongue, who knows what other nefarious magic is at work in this book…"

"No, I think I'd like to read it," Harry overrode her. "Know thine enemy, right?"

"I suppose," said Tonks, "but be careful with it, Merlin knows what's in there…"

After assuring Tonks he would, Harry took the book from Hermione and retreated to his bedroom to read, if that's what listening to a disembodied snake whispering in his ear as his eyes scanned the page could be called. Though he only got through the first section, "Of Muggles, Mudboods, and Squibs" before the girls called him down for lunch, he learned a great deal. As it turned out, Slytherin was not merely motivated by some random, blind hatred for those who were without magic. It seemed, from the almost primal desperation with which Slytherin wrote about anti-magical persecution, that the Flame Freezing Charm and Apparition, the two greatest tools wizards and witches had to escape fanatical Muggles, had yet to be invented, meaning that several witches and wizards were being killed in a most horrendous manner. At the time, it seemed that Muggles were only aware of the existence of Muggle-born wizards and the occasional isolated band of witches who lived a minimalist existence in the woods. Slytherin's main rationale for excluding Muggle-borns from Hogwarts was an intense fear that Muggles might discover the larger Wizard society through their magical children. Slytherin believed that if Muggles were to find out about the centers of Wizarding life at Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and someplace Harry had never heard of called Wryvensgord, they would come en masse and overwhelm the magical defenses with sheer numbers. In this scenario, wizard-kind would be wiped out.

Slytherin also wrote a great deal of essays on the natural inferiority of Muggle-born wizards and the general contemptible nature of Muggles, written in a style that suggest they were designed for a large audience, perhaps distributed by a fleet of owls and a _Duplicus_ charm. It seemed to Harry like Slytherin had not really believed what he wrote in these essays; they lacked the urgency and passion he saw in the dire predictions of an anti-wizard genocide. Harry thought these letters were more to try and play on latent racism and draw more wizards to his side of the debate. The dehumanizing anti-Muggle message in these letters may also have been intended to create an image of Muggles as some sort of perfect demon that wizards would be entirely justified in seeking to slaughter in revenge.

Harry filled the girls in on what he had read over Kreacher's surprisingly good steak and kidney pie. Hermione looked like she had a comment to make, but before she could open her mouth, a phoenix literally burst into existence over the table and flew over to the arm of Harry's chair.

"Hello Fawkes," said Harry as the phoenix trilled sadly and presented him with a scroll. "What have we here?" Harry unrolled the parchment and read.

_Dear Mr. Potter_

_As you may have read in _The Daily Prophet_ this morning, your good friend Mr. Weasley was captured and tortured by Death Eaters yesterday. Though _The Prophet _has been known to sensationalize and exaggerate details of attacks in the past, it is unfortunately factual in this case. Mr. Weasley's sanity is beyond repair, the best that can be done now is to ensure he lives out the rest of his days in comfort._

_As hard as this must be, I feel I must remind you that you are a public figure and will be expected to give public comment. If they have not arrived already, you will soon receive owls from Ministry spokespeople, reporters from _The Prophet _and other media outlets looking for a statement. Despite your grief, you __**must**__say something strong and positive. The Wizarding Public needs a hero right now, they need some glimmer of hope in what has very rapidly become a time of darkness._

_In regards to our last meeting, I hope you hold no residual ill feelings toward me. The goblins are a calculating and conniving race of creatures and I panicked when I heard you were associating with them. I would advise you to keep further dealings with goblins to an absolute minimum as I wouldn't want their unorthodox views to bring you to any sort of harm. In fact, I ask that you not return to Gringotts this summer and instead conduct any business you have with the goblins via owl._

_I have been reviewing the safety measures around 12 Grimmauld Place since you took up residence there and I am satisfied that they will indeed protect you, so I have decided to allow you to remain. I understand that Ms. Tonks and Ms. Granger are accompanying you, a situation I do not seek to remedy. Hopefully some of their more studious natures will rub off on you._

_Regards,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

"What is it," asked Hermione when Harry snorted upon finishing the letter.

"Oh, nothing," said Harry casually, though with a little bite in his tone, "Typical Dumbledore blither and blather. Apparently, I am now 'allowed' to stay here, as though he could kick me out of my own house. Also, no Gringotts visits for me and I 'must' issue a statement about Ron." Harry sobered, remembering he was supposed to be sorry about the fate his one-time best friend had met. Hermione dulled too and there was a moment in which neither of them knew what to say.

They were spared the indignity of an awkward silence, however, when several owls flew into the kitchen. Tonks helped Harry relieve all the owls of their burdens while Hermione went through and saw who the letters were from.

"_The Daily Prophet_…_The Quibbler_…_Le Magnifique...The New York Times Magical Edition_…yes, they're all the same," Hermione said, scanning the stationery of the parchment.

"So Dumbledore was right about the statement thing," groaned Harry, who had never been a fan of the press.

"Mhm," said Hermione distractedly, now poring through the contents of the letters. "The Wizarding Wireless Network is willing to pay you five thousand Galleons if you will give them an exclusive interview about everything that has happened this month. There are competing offers from the Wizard Divisions at Al-Jazeera and Bertelsmann, and some American firm I've never heard of called ESG wants to bring you to San Francisco and create some sort of spectacle. They're offering the best package: fifty thousand Wampum up front, 150 thousand in royalties afterward along with full accommodations and first-class transportation to and from the States."

"As if I need the money," Harry snorted to cover that he had never heard of Wampum before. "An exclusive interview might be the best way to go, though. If I give a non-exclusive to someone, the rest of them will never let up on me. What's the exchange rate between Wampum and Galleons?"

"Its about two Wampum to the Galleon," Tonks informed him, "But frankly, I wouldn't take ESG up on their offer. There are too many pressing issues here to go off on holiday to America."

"Like what?" asked Harry, who was frankly intrigued by the former Colonies. "I mean, it's not like I can really do anything about Voldemort this summer. Save Krum and Fleur, I've never met foreign wizards before and I've certainly never traveled. I think it might be a good experience. Besides, Voldemort hasn't got power with the Yanks, does he? I'd be safe there."

"That you would," allowed Tonks, "but you are greatly mistaken if you think Voldemort is the only issue confronting you this summer. Did you think you could just inherit a huge amount of money from Sirius, deposit it in the bank and that'd be the end of things?"

Harry said nothing. He had indeed thought all matters with the Black estate were over and done with, but judging from Tonks' tone, he had been mistaken.

"I haven't brought up any of this with you yet because I figured I'd give you some time to become accustomed to your wealth, but there are many formalities that come with being Lord Black," said Tonks forcefully. "First, according to tradition, you must engage in some sort of major philanthropy within a year of inheriting. Second, you must begin to prepare for your debut in the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards. When you come of age this July, you will be expected to take your hereditary seats on both councils. Then there's the matter of hiring an executor to oversee and invest the estate – each Lord Black is expected to net at least 10 growth every year, and frankly, that's a task best left to professionals."

"What happens if I don't do these things?" asked Harry.

"Well, if you don't show at the Wizengamot and the ICW, the family will lose its hereditary seat. Trust me, this is not something you want to lose, especially for someone in your continually wavering political position. I suspect you will find membership on those councils very useful before this war is over and done with. As for the rest, I'm frankly unsure. There used to be a Board of Trustees that oversaw the estate and made sure the Head was doing his job, but there are so few Blacks left…" Tonks trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.

"I suppose philanthropy isn't such a bad idea," said Harry, "though I can't imagine why I would need to actively make the Black assets even larger than they are, that vault has enough cash for at least a hundred lifetimes."

"Don't be so sure," said Tonks seriously. "In the last war, there was severe hyperinflation for about a year and a half. The Galleon was worth virtually nothing and frankly, were it not for the Blacks' extensive holdings of Muggle cash and stock, the estate would have been entirely crippled. With the incredible wealth Voldemort controls it's entirely possible that he may be planning on causing another crisis as part of his endgame."

Harry did not understand just how Voldemort could cause a crisis, but decided to take Tonks at her word. "Alright," he said, "No trips to America just yet. But that doesn't change the fact that I need to give an interview or a statement of some kind, especially given Ron…" Harry trailed off and looked to Hermione who nodded solemnly and spoke.

"I don't think an exclusive is the way to go," she said. "If you're going for defiance and strength in the face of tragedy, then it would be better to have a full-on press conference. Invite reporters from all over the world and have the thing simulcast on WWN. If you let the people see you in public, it will strongly reinforce your message that they need not be afraid."

Harry agreed, and the trio set to work planning the event.

* * *

Across the country in Wiltshire, Lord Voldemort was considering the attack on Ron Weasley. On the face of it, the attack was a good thing. As a member of a famously anti-Dark family and a close friend of Harry Potter's, he was a good symbol of opposition to Voldemort's power. The fact that the boy had been attacked in Diagon Alley would be sure to inspire fear among the public. The brutal nature of the attack, too, would serve that purpose.

Despite this, the Dark Lord was furious over the whole affair. No matter how good the fate of Ron Weasley had been for his war plans, it had occurred without his authorization. Voldemort believed his Death Eaters to be more disciplined than that. He sincerely hoped that this attack was a random act of violence, preferably by a foolish junior member seeking his favor. Deep down, however, he feared that the attack had been ordered by one of his Inner Circle. If this was the case, it meant only one thing…

_Mutiny._

There had been two rebellions amongst the Death Eaters during Voldemort's first bid for power. The time and energy it had taken to put down the insurrections had caused him to miss valuable opportunities to seize control of the Ministry and set back his plans by years. That absolutely _could not_ happen this time. He knew that someone competent would replace the buffoon Fudge within days. When that happened, Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, never more than a slight annoyance in the past, would be allowed to openly organize against him and potentially even gain a numbers advantage.

And then there was the problem of Potter. If his suspicions regarding the prophecy were true, the boy would soon emerge as a serious threat. Though Voldemort would never consider saying it aloud, he was beginning to become unnerved by the boy's continued survival. If the boy could succeed as he had at the Department of Mysteries with minimal combat skills, meek allies, and no planning, how dangerous would he be as a trained fighter? How much longer could he legitimately tell his Death Eaters that Potter posed no threat? The days when Harry could be regarded as an insignificant schoolboy were rapidly coming to an end.

_Enough of this_, thought Voldemort. He gazed around his palatial lodgings in the Malfoy manor. Wormtail was standing nervously roughly halfway between his master and the door. Nagini was curled up on the sofa, the tip of her tail twitching ever so slightly as she slept. He could hear Draco through the wall separating the bedroom next door. The hag Parkinson called a daughter was in there as well; the Malfoy heir was awkwardly trying to convince her to perform some degrading sex act the boy had read about in a magazine. Voldemort rolled his red, demon-like eyes and silently bemoaned his fate. _In ten years' time, that boy is going to be one of my top commanders_.

"Wormtail, come here," the Dark Lord hissed lazily. Pettigrew instantly sprung to attention and prostrated himself at Voldemort's feet.

"I have a few tasks for you, Wormtail," continued Voldemort, ignoring the man before him with all but his voice. "You will first tell that Malfoy brat to either keep it in his pants or relocate to a different room. Second, you will bring me a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Third, you will give me your arm and we shall call the Death Eaters."

"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail said, and hastily scrambled out the door to do his master's bidding.

With a slight pop, Voldemort Apparated to the chamber he had created beneath the Malfoys' drawing room floor. It was a simple place; a round room made of stone with torches spaced evenly around the walls. At the far end of the room there was a raised circular platform upon which Voldemort's obsidian throne sat. Unbeknownst to his followers, the Dark Lord had placed rather strong warming and cushioning charms on the throne so that he would be comfortable during the sometimes interminable strategy sessions and reports. Evil he might be, but a masochist Voldemort was not.

Within three minutes, the chamber was filled with the cracks of Apparition. Assembled before Voldemort now were some thirty Death Eaters, the pitiful few that remained of his once-proud legions. _I must step up recruitment_, thought Voldemort as he gazed upon his trembling supporters. As soon as the thought came, he banished it. He could ponder such things later.

"I wonder," Voldemort began in his most malevolent hiss, "if any of you read _The Daily Prophet_ this morning?" As the Dark Lord raised the paper, the Death Eaters remained silent, knowing their master did not seek an answer to his question.

"There was some very interesting news this morning," he continued, staring down each of his supporters in turn. Voldemort saw no tell-tale flinches, so he went on.

"In a gruesome attack sure to send shockwaves through the magical community, Ronald Weasley, 16, was found tortured to insanity behind a Knockturn Alley dumpster late last night, the Dark Mark floating over his body, Ministry officials say," the Dark Lord quoted, a mocking note in his hiss. "It seems that the youngest son of the Mudblood-loving Weasley clan has been disposed of."

Several of the Death Eaters began snickering at this, but stopped promptly when they saw their master was not joining in their mirth.

"Please," Voldmeort implored, "continue to express your joy. This truly is a great victory for _us _and_our cause_. In fact, whoever led this attack on Weasley, please come forward and receive your reward."

No one moved. The newer Death Eaters in the crowd did not dare attempt to take credit for something they had not done, lest they be contradicted. The older, more experienced Death Eaters realized the danger of the situation and braced themselves for pain.

"No takers?" asked Voldemort, a dangerous silkiness in his voice as he scanned the room again. "No one willing to take credit for their deed?" Again, Voldemort received no response.

"Bella," the Dark Lord said, turning his attention to one of the cloaked figures in the front row. "You like the Cruciatus curse. Were you involved?"

"No my Lord," cried Bellatriz Lestrange with a note of slavish devotion. "it was not I!"

"Are you sure," Voldemort asked. Bellatrix nodded fervently. "But it says right here you did it," he said, once again indicating _The Daily Prophet_. She shook her head vigorously, and the Dark Lord moved on.

"Take this, Narcissa," he said, throwing the newspaper to another robed figure. She caught it with ease. Voldemort whispered something and suddenly Narcissa's hands clenched on the paper. She could not let go if she tried.

"Now, it wasn't you who did it, was it Nascissa?" Voldemort asked. The congregation of Death Eaters watched on with bated breath, praying that their master worked out his anger on the Black sisters and left them alone.

"It was not I, my Lord!" Narcissa declared, but she was starting to sweat. She did not know why Voldemort had bound her hands to this paper, but she sensed that it was not good.

"Really," said Voldemort skeptically. "It was not you who led an unsanctioned attack and then had the audacity to shoot the Dark Mark above the scene?"

"No my Lord!" cried Narcissa in real panic, there was no denying that she was in for pain.

"Are you sure? Are you sure you weren't upset when that little blood-traitor inherited a million Galleons from your cousin while you were left nothing? Are you sure you didn't hang around Diagon Alley after the will reading, see him walking around with a pocket full of Galleons and…_snap_?" Voldemort put a special, malicious emphasis on the last word.

"No, my Lord!" Narcissa shouted. "I – "

"Do not lie to me, Narcissa! _Incendio!_"

Fire sprang from the end of Voldemort's wand and hit the newspaper in Narcissa's hands. It instantly caught and erupted in flames, and Narcissa screamed with pain as her once perfect, aristocratic hands were consumed by the fire. Some of the Death Eaters coughed and gagged as the smoke and smell of burning flesh engulfed their lungs.

Voldemort took the opportunity to rip into Narcissa's mind, searching hungrily for confirmation of his suspicions. He found the memory he sought and watched as Narcissa led Draco out of Gringotts, scolding him for his outburst. The pair stopped in quickly at Eeylops Owl Emporium to pick up treats for their eagle owl and walked over to the Apparition point. As Voldemort watched them, he noticed something in his peripheral vision. He turned and saw it fully: Ron Weasley was walking toward The Leaky Cauldron, being subtly pushed along by Harry Potter. Voldemort studied his nemesis' face and nearly gasped; Potter's face was contorted by hatred unlike any the Dark Lord had ever seen the boy display. This was far beyond the schoolboy anger that sometimes arose between good friends, this was hot, terrible, seething malevolence – loathing in its purest form. Voldemort instantly understood what had happened to Ron Weasley.

Voldemort pulled out of Narcissa's mind and put out the fire, which had reduced the ends of her arms to bleeding stumps. He mindlessly barked an order at Lucius to clean her up and dismissed his followers. Returning to his obsidian throne, Voldemort leaned back, and his lipless mouth curved into a twisted sort of grin.

_Oh, Harry. There may be hope for you yet_…

* * *

**A/N:** Alright, there it is! I'm sorry this chapter was a little slow, but it lays the foundation for a lot of plot elements to follow. To make some amends for that, I am taking a page out of **full pensieves**' book and including footnotes to the chapter below. Once again, I thank all of you profusely for reading and reviewing RotA, the stats make me smile every time I look at them. Until next time...

i Slytherin's chapter titles make homage to Locke, Machiavelli, Tocqueville, Hobbes, and Aristotle, elements of whose philosophies will be seen as Slytherin's writings and this story unfolds.

ii A fun game you can play with this story is going back through all the dates and numbers I give and figuring out their relationships to the numbers 3 and 7, each should have several. (Example: In the number 1229, 1 2 3, 9-27, 1 2 2 9 14, 14/2 7, 4-13) A Google search on the numerology of these numbers may give you a hint as to the story's direction.

iii These nefarious sources of income become important

iv Except for Slytherin's role, the description of the origins of the Crusades is accurate

v As memory serves me, JKR states in canon that Slytherin and Gryffindor had "a fight" that resulted in Slytherin leaving the school.

vi Despite this, my second reference to an Auror taking N.E.W.T. History of Magic, it will not be among Harry's courses when he returns to school. Look for more info from N.E.W.T. History of Magic to pop up, however.

vii What other reasons have we seen for Slytherin-related objects being in the House of Black?

viii Harry's choice to read Slytherin's book is a key one.

ix A reference to the witches of Macbeth

x This is not the last you will hear of Wryvensgord

xi Read David Mayhew's _Congress: The Electoral Connection_, a famous essay on political science, for a more thorough discussion of why this would be.

xii I hardly think I should have to tell you there is a specific, unstated reason Dumbledore wishes Harry to stay away from goblins


	7. The Two Slytherins

A/N: After a year-long hiatus, here is the 6th chapter of _Harry Potter and the Rise of the Amphiptere_. With any luck, this will be the last time an update takes so long.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I probably wouldn't have had to take out so many student loans.

* * *

Chapter Six: The Two Slytherins

With a slight whisper of a _pop_, a dark figure appeared in Diagon Alley. Black robes swishing around him, he made his way up the High Street toward a tall, box-like

building, its dull gray color contrasting vividly with the vibrant colors all around. As he approached, he noticed a small girl no older than thirteen leading her openly gaping parents around. The father spotted another child zooming on a broom around above Quality Quidditch Supplies and snapped a picture.

_Filthy Muggles and their Mudblood spawn_, the dark figure thought and raised his wand, a pinprick of sickly green light appearing at its end before he stopped himself. _We can deal with them later_, he thought.

No, Lord Voldemort had not come to Diagon Alley for his normal fare of destruction and murder. This trip was more of a social call, a quick check-in on one of his biggest living nemeses.

As Voldemort approached the gray building he spotted his quarry: Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived was standing solemnly on an improvised platform, the Mudblood Granger and Bellatrix's pink-haired cousin flanking him. Before Harry was a gaggle of reporters, fighting with each other to set up their Quick Quotes Quills in the best positions. As Granger stepped forward, Voldemort strengthened the Notice-Me-Not charms on him and settled in the back row to watch.

"Hello, all," Hermione addressed the crowd in a rather nervous voice. "Thank you for coming out to the press conference. I am Hermione Jane Granger, the woman to the right is Auror Nymphadora Tonks, and obviously the man behind me is Lord Harry James Black-Potter, Viscount of Hampshire. Harry will read a brief statement regarding the attack on our friend Ron Weasley, which will be followed by a brief question-and-answer session. Thank you."

Hermione stepped away from the podium and Harry replaced him, a nervous lump in his throat. Harry had never been particularly comfortable with public speaking, and now he had to tell a series of bald-faced lies to the press. He cleared his throat and went through some of the calming exercises Hermione had taught him. As he scanned the crowd before him, Harry felt a sharp pain in his scar when he reached the back row, but ignored it. It was always bad if Voldemort was happy about something, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Harry cleared his throat one last time and began to read.

"Good evening. I stand before you today filled with both grief and anger. Ron Weasley was the first friend I ever had, the first guy my age who wanted anything to do with me. He was a fiercely loyal friend, one who always had my back when others doubted me. Through Ron, I got to know the Weasley family, which has taken me in as one of their own. I am eternally grateful for Ron's friendship, and I mourn his loss.

"But even on a sad, sad evening such as this, we cannot afford to merely mourn. As this attack proves, Lord Voldemort and his followers are as dangerous and malevolent as ever. Though he is weakened by the recent arrest of 11 Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic, we cannot afford to be complacent. We must cripple Voldemort while we can, before he regains lost strength and can once again wage full-scale war against our civilization. I look forward to taking my family's seat in the Wizengamot and fighting for more aggressive measures to demolish Voldemort's Death Eater support and marginalize the Dark Lord himself. I am now open to your questions." Harry looked up from the notes Hermione had prepared and faced the audience, once again receiving a sharp pain in his scar as he scanned the back row. He disregarded it as the reporters began shouting questions at him, their voices melding into an incomprehensible cacophony. Waving his arms frantically to shut them up, Harry yelled, "Please, one at a time! Raise your hands and wait to be called on!"

Harry pointed to a woman in the front row first. "Marissa Fairchild, _Daily Prophet_," she introduced herself before continuing. "Harry, there are persistent rumors that the 11 Death Eaters captured at the Ministry broke into the Department of Mysteries with the intention of stealing a prophecy concerning yourself and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Can you confirm or deny these rumors? Do you know the contents of the prophecy?"

Harry smiled; Hermione had predicted this question. "What would you like me to tell you, Marissa? That the rumors are true? That I heard the prophecy, remembered it exactly, and could recite it for you right now? What would you like the prophecy to say? That I alone can defeat Voldemort? That I _will_ defeat Voldemort?" Harry smirked, and let his rhetorical question hang in the air, tantalizing the reporters. After the pause, he gave a short cough of a laugh and continued, "No, unfortunately I can't tell you any of that. We were indeed in the Department of Mysteries and the Death Eaters were seeking a specific prophecy. I can't tell you any more than that, though. The prophecy broke during the fight, no one heard what it said. Next question?"

While he scanned the crowd again, deciding which reporter to call on, Harry thought about when he would actually tell Hermione about the prophecy. It was knowledge she needed to have at some point, if only so that Harry didn't have to deal with it alone. He wasn't worried about moral questions of killing Voldemort, not now that he'd killed Uncle Vernon. The problem was "the power the Dark Lord knows not." Harry knew he'd need Hermione to find it, whatever it was, and there was no chance of him getting her help without telling her the prophecy. The only question was how Hermione would react. Uncharacteristically, she hadn't yet spoken to Harry about his killing of Uncle Vernon nor his use of the Cruciatus on Kingsley – though the second was more understandable, they had been working nonstop since that incident. As a result of this, Harry could not be sure of Hermione's attitude toward killing. She said upon arriving at Grimmauld Place that they must "fight fire with fire," but was that just talk?

Shaking off these thoughts, Harry indicated another witch, who identified herself as Crystal Peters before asking her question. "What possessed you to kill Vernon Dursley, Harry? How did you manage to work _Avada Kedavra_? Had you used an Unforgiveable Curse before?"

"If you read the trial transcripts, you can see perfectly clearly what 'possessed' me to kill my Uncle," Harry replied coldly. "I got _Avada Kedavra_ to work by drawing upon all the anger and pain he caused me, and if I'd used Unforgivables before, don't you think you'd have heard about it?"

Harry answered a few more questions about Ron and other events of the past few weeks on autopilot before one threw him off his guard. "How do you respond to reports of a growing rift between yourself and Albus Dumbledore?"

"I'm sorry?"

"A rift between yourself and Albus Dumbledore. The two of you were seen briefly bickering in Diagon Alley the afternoon you were acquitted, and there are rumors that you destroyed a significant portion of his office prior to the end of term this year. What are the two of you fighting over?"

Harry looked more intently at the reporter and finally recognized her as Rita Skeeter. As he looked back to Hermione for help, he recalled the beetle he had brushed off his arm before Tonks Apparated them to Grimmauld Place. _So that was Rita_, he thought. _I thought Hermione had put a stop to her buzzing around._

"Professor Dumbledore and I have had a couple disagreements of late," Harry said, keeping his tone casual and his diction euphemistic. "One or two issues have arisen upon which we have differing views, and which we will sort out internally. I can assure you, however, that our main point of contention – my summer living arrangements – has been settled, and I bear no particular ill will toward the Headmaster. I will be voting to reinstate him as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW when I take my seats there."

Harry valiantly beat back follow-up questions from the reporters for the next five minutes before Tonks stepped forward and declared the press conference over. The crowd disbursed, many among the crowd heading back into the gray building; it was _The Daily Prophet_'s headquarters. As the crowd scattered, Harry, Hermione and Tonks stepped down from the stage and silently made their way back to the Apparition point.

Voldemort saw the direction Potter was walking and quickened his pace to catch up. As he drew nearer, the Dark Lord removed his Notice-Me-Not charm before quickly becoming invisible. Soon, the he was striding not a pace behind the boy and he spoke softly in Parseltongue,

"_Nice performance, Harry, it should have fooled them. But you and I both know who_ really_ tortured Ron Weasley…impressive work indeed. I'll be in touch…"_

With that, Voldemort Conjured a small basilisk replica and slipped it into Harry's pocket before Disapparating away from the suddenly petrified boy.

As Harry heard Voldemort's Parseltongue hissing in his ears, he stopped dead in his tracks, his face drained of blood. He trembled, rooted to the spot, not daring to believe what had just happened. Had Voldemort just communicated through his scar?

Then Harry felt the small snake drop into his pocket and heard the tiny _pop_ of Voldemort's Disapparition and became truly scared. How long had Voldemort been there? Harry thought back to the occasional scar pains he got during the conference; had Voldemort been there, too? Harry was suddenly very thankful that he had not revealed the prophecy as he had been tempted to – Voldemort could have cast _Avada Kedavra_ and ended the war instantly.

Tonks, who wasn't paying attention, ran headlong into the frozen Harry to break him out of his reverie. Harry let loose an _oomph_ of surprise as the clumsy Auror crashed into his back and looked around wildly, drawing his wand with a curse on his lips. Hermione stopped and looked at him with concern,

"What's wrong, Harry?"

He shook her off, eyes still wide with fear. He turned around to Tonks, who had been knocked over by her impact with Harry.

"Take us home, Tonks." Though his voice shook, Tonks recognized the authority in his words. Dusting herself off, Tonks grabbed Harry and Hermione by the arms and with a loud crack, the trio disappeared.

When the three returned to Grimmauld Place, Harry told the girls about Voldemort's visit. Both of them were horrified, although Hermione appeared to temper her response for Harry's sake. Tonks, on the other hand, began hyperventilating and refused to calm down. Eventually, Hermione cast the _Somnus_ charm on the Auror, causing her to doze off. After levitating Tonks upstairs into her bed, Harry and Hermione returned to the kitchen. Harry poured each of them a cup of tea while Hermione settled herself at the rough wood table. Harry handed Hermione her mug and sat down to her left. Hermione smiled at him as she took her first sip of Earl Grey and Harry found himself grinning back. It felt nice to be doing something _normal_ for once; a bit of peace in the most hectic summer of his life. Sitting here with Hermione, Harry could almost pretend they were in the Great Hall, relaxing before an evening of Quidditch practice or studying.

"So, how are you doing?" Harry asked.

"I'm a little overwhelmed, frankly," said Hermione, her smile fading a little to reflect her fatigue. "It's been a long day."

"That it has," Harry agreed, checking the clock on the wall. It was only 9:00. He turned back to Hermione and searched her face for a clue about her response to her next question. "How – how are you doing…you know, about Ron?"

Hermione sobered entirely and contemplated her answer. "I – I – I'm not entirely sure," she eventually stuttered. "I mean, he was, well – you know, Ron. He was our best friend. So obviously I'm very sad, but…" She trailed off, glancing nervously up at Harry and biting her lip.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Harry," she pleaded, "but some of the things he said about me…and you…they border on unforgivable, Harry. I wouldn't have wished this on him, but…" Hermione trailed off uncertainly again.

"I know how you feel," Harry said, reaching out and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I, ah, heard some of your argument yesterday. You both looked to be in a right state."

"Yes, it was quite heated between us for a time…" Hermione trailed off, a sudden look of alarm crossing her face. "Harry, where were you yesterday? I don't think I saw you at all after the will reading!"

Harry panicked, he had not anticipated this question at all. "Well, I _was_ wearing a Disillusionment Charm," he joked feebly, his mind racing for some plausible story.

"Harry James Potter don't you _dare_ try to put me off like that!"

"Relax Hermione, it was just a joke." Harry attempted an ingratiating smile as he finally alighted on the solution. "I had to stay behind to do some business with the goblins. There are so many little details that have to be attended when you're moving an estate of that size, I was there all day. What did you do yesterday?"

Hermione looked a little suspicious of this explanation, but dropped the issue. She explained that she and Tonks had indulged themselves with a little shopping spree that started in the more posh areas of Diagon Alley and eventually spilled over into Muggle Knightsbridge. After this trip, which Harry gathered had taken several hours, they went for dinner at a French restaurant Hermione's parents had gone to on their 15th anniversary. Thoroughly sated from dinner and exhausted from their day of shopping, Tonks Apparated the two back to Grimmauld Place, where they went to bed rather instantly.

"I'm sorry for leaving you behind, Harry, we weren't really thinking. It's easy to forget about someone when they're Disillusioned," Hermione finished.

"It's ok, Hermione. Like I said, I was stuck with the goblins all day," Harry reassured her. "I'm glad you two had fun." _I know I did_, Harry's mind finished for him, recalling the euphoria the curse gave him. Perhaps that was why he had held it so long.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of them. Grabbing his tea and bidding Hermione to follow him, Harry ascended the stairs and entered the drawing room. After lazily casting _Incendio_ at the fireplace, Harry sat on the couch and placed his mug on the coffee table. He indicated the cushion next to him with his hand and Hermione joined him, curling up at his side and resting her head on his knee. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, deciding that this was the most natural place for it to rest.

Neither of them said anything. Harry stared into the flickering orange and yellow flames, relishing the moment. It wasn't often that he and Hermione got to just _relax_ like this; at Hogwarts, they were always so busy with homework or Quidditch or the D.A. or that year's mystery that they never got to lay back and unwind. _There needs to be more of this_, Harry thought. Sitting there with Hermione, Harry didn't have to worry about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, or Ron, or the prophecy, or anything else. For once, he was able to shed the stresses that came with being Harry Potter the marked celebrity, and enjoy being Harry Potter the normal teenager.

Hermione shifted underneath Harry, causing him to momentarily tighten his grip on her. When he was satisfied she wasn't falling off the couch, Harry started to relax his hold until Hermione touched his hand with her own. She turned her neck to look up at him, her chestnut eyes boring into his. "Please, Harry. It's just the two of us now."

Harry nodded and held his lone best friend close. They continued to sit in silence, for how long, Harry did not know. Every so often, one of them would take a sip of tea, make a small adjustment in their position or make a vague noise of contentment, but they did not speak. Eventually, when the once-proud fire had been reduced to embers, Hermione gently removed herself from Harry's grasp and sat up.

"We should go to bed."

Harry merely nodded and followed her up from the couch, ignoring the mugs of cold tea on the coffee table. Kreacher would clean those up later. The two climbed the stairs together in silence. When they reached the landing before Hermione's room, the Muggle-born witch hugged Harry and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

"Thank you," was all she said before turning and retreating to her room. Harry continued up to the Master bedroom, changed into his pajamas, and was soon fast asleep.

The next several weeks passed with little incident. The day after the press conference, the three residents of Grimmauld Place went to the Burrow to console the Weasley family. Seeing Molly's anguish over the fate of her son gave Harry his first real twinge of guilt. Arthur stoked Harry's guilt when he pulled him aside and told him not to blame himself for the attack. That night, Harry buried himself in the library and refused to speak with Tonks or Hermione. The girls chalked it up to grief and let him be.

True to their word, Moody and Kingsley had been coming to Grimmauld Place twice a week to teach Harry and Hermione – and, to a lesser extent, Tonks – the art of combat. After the excitement of the first lesson, things settled into a more traditional teaching atmosphere. Hermione, though lacking Harry's raw power, proved more adept than he at countering and launching more creative attacks. Indeed, there were several duels in which Hermione did not use a single curse, relying entirely on trickery and subtle charms to incapacitate her opponent. This was not to say Hermione could not use curses or had some sort of objection to them, she was simply bored by them. This point was best illustrated by one duel that Hermione ended with a vicious curse that collapsed Moody's ribcage. While Kingsley rushed to heal the ex-Auror, Hermione turned to Harry and said, "See, I could do that every time, but where's the challenge?"

Aside from the combat lessons, Harry was spending a good amount of time reading Slytherin's manuscript. The second section, "Discourses of the Natural Superiority of Pureblood Wizards," was largely a load of waffle, in Harry's opinion. Slytherin made occasional valid points, such as his illustration of how special magical traits like Parseltongue could only occur in purebloods, but on the whole, his arguments seemed shallow. Slytherin assumed that purebloods must by definition have stronger magic than Muggle-borns or Half-bloods, but he failed to address how to deal with a Half-blood or Muggle-born who was as strong or stronger than purebloods. What would Slytherin say, Harry wondered, if someone showed him Hermione, Tonks, or even Tom Riddle? The only really interesting thing in this chapter was when Harry had spotted his own family mentioned. Slytherin had cited the Potter family in his section on heritable magical traits; apparently the Potters had been rather famous for their Warding abilities. Again, Harry had to question the veracity of Slytherin's argument – it seemed quite possible that his ancestors had happened upon an effective warding spell and merely kept it to themselves.

Harry was settling down to begin reading the Slytherin's third section when a sudden tapping on the window nearest his seat in the library distracted him. Harry stood to open the window and an unfamiliar Masked Owl flew in and alighted upon the table beside Harry's chair. Harry relieved the owl of its letter and read,

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It has been several weeks since I left my message with the goblins but yet I have not received confirmation that you received it or that you will indeed be meeting with me tomorrow. I know that we have not gotten to know each other well, if at all, in our years at Hogwarts, but I promise you that I hold none of the ill feelings toward you that so many of my housemates have. The issues I have to discuss with you are far more important than the trivial rivalries between our houses. Please write back soon to confirm that you will meet with me tomorrow after you meet with the goblins._

_Sincerely,_

_Blaise Zabini_

Harry had indeed forgotten about Blaise's message; the events of the past few weeks and his focus on lessons with Moody and Shacklebolt had driven it clear from his mind. He wondered vaguely what the pretty Slytherin girl might want. He recalled her initial note from the day of Sirius' will reading. She had said then that the issues she wished to discussed were too sensitive to be addressed in a letter, and that she would need to show him physical evidence in order for him to believe it. What could that mean?

Harry was disturbed from his thoughts by the arrival of Hermione, who was carrying a lunch tray. Because none of them trusted Kreacher, Tonks and Hermione had taken to doing all the cooking in Grimmauld Place. As it turned out, Hermione had been so enamored by the local cuisine during her French vacation three summers previously that she had forced her parents to hire a chef to tutor her during the holidays. In the intervening years she had become quite a gourmet. Since moving into Grimmauld Place she spent much of her free time teaching Tonks the skills she had picked up. Today, however, lunch was a simple affair – grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with tomato soup on the side.

Hermione set the tray down on the end table by Harry's chair and joined him at the window. "What's that," she asked, indicating Blaise's letter.

Harry looked at Hermione and ran his fingers through his hair. "Do you remember seeing Blaise Zabini at Sirius' will reading," he asked.

"Yes, now that you mention it. I was kind of confused, but I figured she was just dating Malfoy or something and got dragged along."

"No, apparently she was there because she wanted to talk to me about something," said Harry, repressing a shudder at the idea of anyone dating Malfoy. "After the reading was over, she passed a note to me through the goblins asking if I would meet with her in Diagon Alley on my birthday. This here is a letter from her asking me to confirm that I'll meet with her."

Harry handed the letter to Hermione, who read it quickly. When she finished, he asked, "Do you have any idea what this could be about, Hermione? What do you know about her?"

Hermione frowned and furrowed her brow slightly. "Not much, really. She's pretty smart, I think she's only behind Padma and myself in our year. I know she doesn't run around with Malfoy and the junior Death Eaters very much if at all. Beyond that though…" Hermione trailed off and gave a small snort of laughter. "I remember Lavender and Parvati gossiping about her getting caught in a broom closet with some Ravenclaw boy last year. And that's really all I know."

"Hmmm," said Harry, who thought he might be a tad envious of the anonymous Ravenclaw. "Well, Grabtooth reckons I should meet with her, what do you think?"

"I doubt there could be much harm in meeting with her," said Hermione thoughfully. "She doesn't seem like the type to be in league with the Death Eaters and try to ambush you or anything. So long as Tonks and myself are with you and we all stay on our guard, you should be safe. Meet with her before the your parents' will reading, though, I imagine you'll have to go through all the paperwork and stuff again and who knows when you'll be out of there."

"Good idea," agreed Harry. He returned to his chair and produced a piece of parchment and a quill to write a reply to Blaise.

The following morning, Harry awoke with a degree of trepidation. Even though it was his 16th birthday Harry couldn't shake the feeling that there would be precious little time for celebrating. First, there was this mysterious meeting with Blaise that simply confused Harry more and more every time he thought about it. At noon, he'd have to go Gringotts and officially inherit his parents' estate. Harry still could not believe that he'd learned about this from _goblins_ rather than from one of the many adults in his life who had known Lily and James. How had he never been told that his old vault and just been a trust? How had no one ever tried to prepare him for the political duties that would come when he took the Potters' seat in the Wizengamot? Harry knew nothing of the political issues or current events that concerned Wizarding government, yet now he was expected to help make laws?

Despite these slightly dark thoughts, Harry was mostly optimistic about this day. For the first time in his life, he would be celebrating his birthday with people he knew and cared about. Really, this would be the first time he celebrated his birthday _period_. Rather than spending the day in his bedroom waiting for the cards of his friends and hoping the Dursleys would see fit to leave him alone, Harry would be going out tonight. Tonks had made reservations for the three at one of Diagon Alley's finest restaurants and Hermione had expressed a desire to go to a club afterwards. Since Sirius' will reading, Hermione had completely come out of her shell. Harry supposed that she had always been assertive, particularly when she believed Harry or Ron to be in the wrong, but over the past month she seemed more _alive_ than she ever had. Harry could see a sort of real joy shining through her these days, one he had rarely seen in the girl. He'd mentioned this observation to her once after she had come out of a practice duel with Kingsley looking particularly enraptured, but Hermione had dismissed it as a figment of Harry's imagination. Despite her denial, Harry was happy for Hermione. He had worried for her before, fearing that sooner or later, she would become disillusioned by a life devoted entirely to books and trivial learning. Harry believed that was the reason behind Hermione's sometimes domineering personality; that on some subconscious level, she realized and was frustrated by the fact that being the first to raise her hand in every class and knowing every minute detail of historical figures' lives was ultimately pointless. Since moving into Grimmauld Place, however, the domineering Hermione of the past was gone, replaced by a much more affable and relaxed girl that Harry was happy to spend most of the day with.

Harry joined Hermione and Tonks in the entrance hall to prepare to leave for Diagon Alley. As he descended the stairs, the girls looked up and smiled.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" said Tonks, meeting him on the bottom step and giving Harry a hug.

Harry returned the smile and climbed down the last step. Hermione came up and hugged him as well. "Happy Birthday, Harry," she said. "You want your presents now or at dinner?"

"At dinner ought to be fine," grinned Harry, who was legitimately thrilled to be opening his friends' gifts in person rather than after receiving them by owl. "Shall we head off to meet Blaise then?"

Harry and Hermione grabbed Tonks' arms and with a small _pop_, the trio Apparated to front entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. Once they went inside, it was just a matter of seconds before they spotted Blaise. The blonde Slytherin girl was sitting in between a pair of goblins at the bar and consulting a menu. She was wearing a rather form-fitting set of light blue robes that seemed to softly twinkle when she moved; Harry was faintly reminded of his former Professor Lockhart. Harry gave a slight start when he recognized the goblin on Blaise's right as Grabtooth. He began to wonder if Blaise knew who Grabtooth was, but had his question answered when Blaise set down her menu and whispered something in the goblin's ear. This was shaping up to be a very odd meeting indeed.

Harry walked up to the bar, Tonks and Hermione trailing behind him, and made himself known. "Hi Blaise," he said, making every effort to conceal his confusion. "How are you?"

Blaise twisted around in her seat to see him and smiled. "Harry," she opened warmly, "Thank you so much for agreeing to see me."

"'S no problem," Harry said. He made a gesture to indicate the girls behind him, who had just arrived at the bar. "Have you met Hermione and Tonks?"

"My pleasure," said Blaise, shaking the hand of each girl. "And you know Grabtooth and his assistant Stillstone?"

"Its been a little while," Harry said to Grabtooth, still doing his best to mask his confusion at the presence of the goblins.

"I must say," said Hermione, who was eyeing Stillstone warily, "you've been awfully mysterious as to what this whole thing is about, Blaise. All of us are at a loss as to what this might be about."

'Well then, let's not tarry, yeah?" said Blaise. She summoned Tom, the barkeep. "Is our private room ready yet, Tom?"

"Aye, so it is madam," Tom said, flashing the Slytherin a toothless grin.

"Excellent. Would you take us up there and then send up my order?" Blaise turned to Harry. "Would you guys like to order anything?"

Harry ordered a plate of kippers and sausage with scrambled eggs and then followed Blaise and Tom up the stairs to room number 14, a large conference room with a wide central table flanked by a small army of comfortable chairs. Harry chose a seat at the head of the table and the others filled in the seats around the corners, with Hermione and Tonks sitting to his left and Blaise and the goblins sitting to his right. Blaise whispered something to Grabtooth, who then made a motion at Stillstone. The assistant goblin got up and strode toward the door, waving his right hand and chanting under his breath as he did so. "Privacy charms," Blaise explained to Hermione, who was sporting a curious look.

"So what's all this about," asked Harry once the goblin had finished his work. "Why am I here?"

"I'll try to be as direct as possible, Harry," said Blaise. She adjusted herself in her seat before continuing.

"Last month, you and several of your friends were involved in a battle in the Department of Mysteries. The battle was primarily over the possession of one of the prophecies stored in the Hall of Prophecy, correct?"

Tonks snorted derisively. "So you've read the newspaper, then?"

Harry shot the Auror a look, then said, "Yes, but the prophecy was destroyed during the battle. No one knows for sure what it said or even who it was about. Where are you going with this?"

"The prophecy was spoken to Albus Dumbledore by Sibyll Trelawney the summer before your birth. She delivered it in a private room at the Hog's Head bar in Hogsmeade at the end of her interview to become Hogwarts' Divination professor," continued Blaise.

Harry's jaw dropped. "_How could you know that_" he demanded, rising violently from his chair and towering over the Slytherin girl.

Blaise did not flinch. "I know a great deal more than that. I know the exact wording of the prophecy."

Harry gasped. "_THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!_" he cried. "There are only two people in the world that know the full text of the prophecy, myself and Professor Dumbledore! Even Hermione doesn't know!"

Blaise took let out a low breath and stared calmly, but directly into Harry's eyes.

"Actually, Harry, you don't know the _real_ prophecy either."

* * *

A/N: So yeah, if you can't tell, this chapter and the next are pretty big turning points in the story. We're getting to the fun part, boys and girls.

Big props go out to **omh666**. Last week, the chapter you've just finished was about 3/4 completed but I hadn't worked on it in months and really had no plans of finishing it. omh submitted 3 reviews last week, though, and thats what inspired me to get back on the RotA horse. I've spent a great deal of my free time the past week combing through the old chapters, searching for old posts I had made on the Dark Lord Potter forums, and wracking my brain to figure out where I had been planning on taking RotA. I've tweaked my plan for this story from what I had originally intended, but I feel that we are on an excellent track, and I'm excited to continue writing this thing.

So, if anyone wasn't sure that writing reviews is a worthwhile use of your time, let RotA be all the proof you need. To be sure, I derive some pleasure from the simple act of writing this story, but the real reward of writing fan fiction comes from getting feedback from those who read it. It makes me feel wonderful to know that there are people out there reading my work; an email notifying me that someone has left a review brightens my day like nothing else. So please, LEAVE REVIEWS!

Some notes on this chapter:

-You may have noticed from this chapter and the previous one that my Voldemort is much more like a normal human being than he is in most characterizations (especially JKR's). This is intentional.

-Many of you may wonder if the Harry/Hermione scenes in this chapter indicate that this is going to become a H/Hr ship fic. I would like to reassure everyone that I remain committed to this being a H/Many fic. However, Hermione will take a very large role over the course of this story, so if you have some burning distaste for her and can't look past it, you should probably read something else.

-Stillstone's name is an homage to Donna Moss, the assistant to Josh Lyman on the TV show _The West Wing_. In case you are not aware, _The West Wing_ is the greatest television show ever made. Period. Look out for more references.

If you've got any questions or comments or anything, please please please leave a review!!! Or send me a PM or something, but leave a review too!


	8. The Real Prophecy

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. Honestly, if you haven't figured that out by now...let's just say you're probably a few twigs short of a broomstick.

To all those eagerly awaiting this chapter...I hope I did not disappoint you.

* * *

Chapter Seven: The Real Prophecy

_Previously on Harry Potter and the Rise of the Amphiptere: _

"_I'll try to be as direct as possible, Harry," said Blaise. She adjusted herself in her seat before continuing._

"_Last month, you and several of your friends were involved in a battle in the Department of Mysteries. The battle was primarily over the possession of one of the prophecies stored in the Hall of Prophecy, correct?"_

_Tonks snorted derisively. "So you've read the newspaper, then?" _

_Harry shot the Auror a look, then said, "Yes, but the prophecy was destroyed during the battle. No one knows for sure what it said or even who it was about. Where are you going with this?"_

"_The prophecy was spoken to Albus Dumbledore by Sibyll Trelawney the summer before your birth. She delivered it in a private room at the Hog's Head bar in Hogsmeade at the end of her interview to become Hogwarts' Divination professor," continued Blaise._

_Harry's jaw dropped. "How could you know that," he demanded, rising violently from his chair and towering over the Slytherin girl._

_Blaise did not flinch. "I know a great deal more than that. I know the exact wording of the prophecy."_

_Harry gasped. "THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!" he cried. "There are only two people in the world that know the full text of the prophecy, myself and Professor Dumbledore! Even Hermione doesn't know!"_

_Blaise took let out a low breath and stared calmly, but directly into Harry's eyes. _

"_Actually, Harry, you don't know the real prophecy either."_

Harry goggled at Blaise. His brain was desperately telling his body to do something, _anything_, but the message was not getting through. Instead, he stood there, slack-jawed, gaping at the blonde Slytherin before him with a level of incredulity normally reserved for mountain trolls and drunken Hufflepuffs. The sheer absurdity of what Blaise was suggesting had simply overwhelmed him.

"How could that possibly be?" Harry finally managed, dropping back into his seat. "Dumbledore showed me his memory of the prophecy in his penseive!"

Blaise and Grabtooth shared a brief, knowing glance. "Penseive memories can be tampered with, Harry," Blaise explained gently. "This is why they aren't admissible as evidence in court; even someone only moderately skilled in the Mind Arts could successfully alter a memory enough to affect a trial outcome. Obviously, Dumbledore is well beyond 'moderately skilled' in the Mind Arts and there is _no _way he would let you know the true contents of the prophecy."

"How can you know that?" asked Harry, for what seemed like the millionth time. "As is, Dumbledore didn't want to tell me about the prophecy at all! I didn't even know there _was_ a prophecy until Malfoy mentioned it!" Harry drew breath and opened his mouth to continue but was cut off by Hermione.

"Now wait just one minute!" A righteous fire Harry was unaccustomed to seeing outside of life-threatening battles and rants about house-elf rights lit the Gryffindor witch's eyes. She stared at Harry with an unreadable expression (_was it betrayal? _Harry asked himself furiously) in her eyes. "What is this prophecy that Dumbledore told you?" _And why haven't you told me about it yet?_ her eyes seemed to ask. Harry fought down a pang of guilt.

"I'm really not supposed to say…" Harry began, but he trailed off and changed course at the looks on Hermione and Blaise's faces. "Fine. In essence, it says that in the end, I will kill Voldemort or Voldemort will kill me. Whichever of us survives will have won the war."

When Harry had thought about it before, he always envisioned that his revelation of the prophecy would be a dramatic affair. He would gravely summon his closest and most trusted friends into his room, or the Library in Grimmauld Place perhaps, and reveal the prophecy as a shattering truth. There would be an awkward, deafening silence. Then, Hermione would cry and refuse to believe it, spouting off with tear-stained rants about how Divination was wooly nonsense. Tonks would pretend to be strong and comforting, but would be wrecked by inner turmoil. Ron, if he had made it, would have been outwardly stout and defiant, pledging undying loyalty to Harry's cause while secretly adding the prophecy to his list of resentments against The Boy Who Lived. It would strain his relationship with everyone he told for days if not weeks or months, and even when things finally returned to "normal" the reality of the prophecy would pervade every interaction between those in the know; a chronic hippogriff in the room.

Things did not go as Harry had planned. Before Hermione and Tonks had a chance to react, Grabtooth let out a derisive snort. "Typical Dumbledore," he chuckled, shaking his head with a sort of exasperated amusement, just as a mother might after a toddler drew on the walls with crayon. At the confused looks on Harry's face, Grabtooth elaborated.

"Forgive me, Lord Black-Potter, but that is more or less exactly what I would have predicted Dumbledore would come up with as a false prophecy if he ever saw the need to feed you one. You see, Dumbledore is a master of 'revealing' things that people already know. Surely you didn't think the war could end any way other than one of the two of you killing the other? Does any other outcome even make sense?"

Harry thought about this for a moment. "Well, I never really thought that if Voldemort managed to kill me the war would be over," he began slowly. "But you're right, one way or another, it was always going to be me or him, in the end."

"You're almost right, Harry," said Blaise, smiling. "In the end, it will only be _you_. The real prophecy tells us that in the end, you will kill Voldemort and emerge victorious."

Harry stared at Blaise, confused and suspicious. "I don't get it. Why would Dumbledore keep something like that from me? Why would he invent a different prophecy? Isn't this wonderful news?"

Blaise and Grabtooth shared a look. "Not necessarily," said Blaise quietly, looking away from Harry and falling silent.

* * *

Lord Voldemort was not known to be a particularly patient man. In the early days of his rise to power, _The Daily Prophet_ was infamous for spelling his name incorrectly – they had somehow gotten the idea that it was spelled with an "i" in place of the "e." The seventh time this happened, Voldemort had paid a visit to the copy editor's house. After murdering the man's wife and child, the Dark Lord had eviscerated the editor and used his intestines to write the phrase "Can you spell it now?" After the man had been discovered, the _Prophet_ took to calling Voldemort "You Know Who," fearing that any typo would spark another massacre.

It was surprising, then, that the Dark Lord had not yet cursed several poor Muggles into oblivion to vent his frustration over the lack of movement in his plans to liberate his servants incarcerated in Azkaban. The scheme had been mired by setback after setback. First he had had to recover from the magical strain that had come after his defeat in the Department of Mysteries. Though he was fully capable of doing the same advanced magic that any skilled wizard could, he was unable to perform the truly special bits of magic that separated him from all wizards save Albus Dumbledore – his diminished ability to transport a legion of giants to Azkaban island so that they might lay siege to the prison walls being most troublesome in this instance. Then, when he finally did regain his strength, the Gurg of giants had backed out of their arrangement, citing the strange disappearance of a small giant named Grawp, an event that had greatly disturbed the Gurg for reasons that were frankly beyond Voldemort's understanding. He'd kill the Gurg later, but for now he'd have to come up with a different plan. Voldemort had given Wormtail the task of coming up with an alternate plan, but he held little hope that the rat would come up with anything. There was a reason he hadn't broken the prison during the last war, and it wasn't solely about the Dementors. Azkaban was a fortress in the truest sense of the word, protected by wards that had stood for centuries. Voldemort wasn't even entirely sure of where the prison was; he'd have to fly over the North Sea and scan for unusual concentrations of magic just to find the place.

In short, Voldemort needed a distraction. He needed something, _anything_ to distract him. The defeat at the Ministry had robbed him of all his brightest lieutenants; Voldemort needed something to distract him from the crushing reality that at this moment, he was impotent. Useless. Powerless. Voldemort bitterly recalled the words Rudolph Krieger had said to him as a young man, before he had formed his legions of Death Eaters, "_Kennen sie was ein Anfueher mit keinen Anhaengerin sind? Nichts als ein mench fuer wandern gehen."_ Do you know what a leader without any followers is? Nothing but a guy going for a walk.

Voldemort seethed. He needed someone smart, someone powerful, someone upon whom he could count. He needed…

"WORMTAIL!" the Dark Lord bellowed, and the sniveling rat-man was almost instantly at his side.

"Yes, m'lord," Wormtail stuttered, appearing to injure himself in his haste to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"Summon Draco and Severus. I need a meeting with the three of you."

"Yes, of course my Master," said Wormtail and he fled the room. No more than five minutes later, Wormtail had come back with the others and the group was kneeling at the foot of Voldemort's throne.

"I wish to step up recruitment efforts on one particular individual, and the three of you know him better than any other of my Death Eaters. You should be honored to be on this committee."

"We are, Master," Snape spoke for the group, but Voldemort did not need his Legilimency skills to know they were confused.

The Dark Lord rose from his throne and walked over to the stairs that led back to the main of Malfoy Manor, hissing at Nagini to follow him as he did so. He paused on the third stair and turned to look back at his Death Eaters, who were still kneeling.

"The three of you will come up with a plan to successfully recruit Harry Potter into our ranks. You have a week."

And with that, Lord Voldemort vanished.

* * *

"I don't understand how it could be bad," said Tonks, piping up for the first time that morning. "If Harry is destined to defeat Voldemort and his victory is assured, we should have a parade or something!"

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she let out a gasp of realization. "It's not as simple as that, is it? There's another part to this prophecy, isn't there? Something terrible."

Blaise gave a grim nod and Hermione clasped her right hand to her mouth in horror, but Grabtooth preempted her speech, making a quelling motion with his hands.

"It would be better if we had this discussion after Lord Black-Potter has heard the real prophecy," he said. Grabtooth turned to Stillstone, who nodded and produced a small, ornate chest. It was made of gold, with small rubies and emeralds placed in diamond patterns all over its sides and top. Just above the seam where it opened, a thin scroll made of pearl circumscribed the chest, a message in onyx Gobbledegook letters upon it. Stillstone placed the priceless artifact before Harry on the table and opened it, revealing a small glass orb filled with swirling smoke.

"The prophecy broke during the battle at the Department of Mysteries," said Harry, a note of suspicion growing in his voice.

"Pardon me Lord Black-Potter, but that is not correct," said Grabtooth. "The _Ministry's copy of_ the prophecy broke during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. This is our copy."

Harry quirked his eyebrow skeptically. "Your copy," he said, unimpressed. "You just happen to have my prophecy lying around somewhere?"

He fixed Grabtooth with a challenging glare, but it was Tonks who spoke up. "Harry, prophecies are sacred to the goblins. They employ the same magic to detect prophecies as the Ministry because they see them as being key to all major decisions. If there's anything other than a legitimate prophecy in that chest, Grabtooth could be found guilty of heresy and beheaded."

Grabtooth and Stillstone nodded their agreement. The senior goblin spoke, "The Metamorphmagus is correct, of course. I would sooner attempt to assassinate Minister Fudge than I would put a false prophecy in one of these boxes."

Harry grinned. "Wouldn't we all," he joked and Hermione and Tonks giggled softly. "Alright then," he continued, "I suppose I've got to accept that this is a real copy of the prophecy. How do I go about listening to it then?"

Stillstone gently lifted the glass orb out of its elaborate container and placed it on the table before Grabtooth, who placed his right hand on it and murmured a short phrase in Gobbledegook. The white smoke inside the ball suddenly stopped swirling and slowly rose through the walls of the orb, where it began undulating. Eventually, it took the form of a thin, crouched, ethereal-looking woman with overly large glasses and countless charms hanging around her neck – Harry quickly realized that this was a younger version of Professor Trelawney.

Moments after she finished materializing, Professor Trelawney's eyes rolled back in her head and the specter began to speak in the harsh, raspy, deep voice that Harry knew all too well.

* * *

Only a few hours had passed since Voldemort had assigned Wormtail, Draco, and Snape with the seemingly impossible task of recruiting Harry Potter into the Death Eater ranks. Nonetheless, it was with a certain confidence that the motley trio returned to their master, a plan already formulated. Snape had thought the other two were being too hasty in giving this presentation so quickly, reasoning that the Dark Lord must have thought the assignment to be remarkably difficult if he was giving them a week to come up with a plan. Draco and Wormtail had overruled him however, arguing that the ability to think and plan quickly was a sign of competence and that Voldemort would reward them for not forcing him to wait.

When the three reached the entrance to Voldemort's large suite in Malfoy Manor, Draco sent for a house-elf to announce their presence to the Dark Lord. Within a minute, the tiny creature reappeared, opening the door and bidding the trio to enter.

Voldemort was sitting in a throne before a fireplace in the living room of his suite. Like the throne in the chamber beneath the drawing room, this one was made of the darkest obsidian and was outfitted with top-notch warming and cushioning charms. Unlike the other throne, however, this one was more ornate: the ends of the armrests had been carved to resemble the claws of a dragon and the Dark Mark had been carved beautifully in the space above Voldemort's head. The sides of this throne also concealed a secret compartment that opened and disappeared with a mere thought; currently, the compartment held a portable Wizarding Wireless receiver Voldemort had been using to listen to the Tutshill Tornadoes vs. Holyhead Harpies match before being interrupted by the house-elf.

The Dark Lord narrowed his snake-like eyes at his three Death Eaters as they came into the room. The speed of their return combined with the particularly arrogant gait with which the Malfoy scion walked told Voldemort everything he needed to know: this was bound to be a hastily conceived yet foolishly elaborate plan doomed to failure from the start. The only question in Voldemort's mind was how long he would have to suffer through the boy's prattle before he could curse him.

He barely allowed the Death Eaters to kneel and kiss the hem of his robes before he spoke, desperate for this meeting to conclude quickly so that he could return to the game. "What is it," he spat.

"My Lord, we have done as you asked and come up with a plan to recruit Harry Potter into our ranks," exclaimed Wormtail.

"So quickly," the Dark Lord asked, feigning incredulity. "I must say, this is an impressive display of wits. Please, continue." Voldemort silently cursed himself for falling into his old habit of toying with the doomed. The Tornadoes were ahead 140-110 but there had already been three exciting pursuits of the Snitch and a Wronski feint that had nearly killed the Tutshill Seeker who attempted it.

Wormtail looked as though he would like to outline the plan, but Snape cut him off. "My Lord, this plan was mostly of Draco's creation so I believe he ought to present it."

Voldemort nodded his assent, and the youngest Malfoy spoke. "My Lord, if we know anything about Harry Potter, we know that he values the lives of his friends far above his own. He would do absolutely anything to prevent them or their families from coming into harm's way."

Voldemort knew what Potter had done to Ron Weasley mere weeks before but allowed Draco to continue uninterrupted, quelling his urge to snort.

"We also know that after the attack on Ron Weasley, Potter's famous '_Golden Trio_' is down to only two members: Potter and the Mudblood Hermione Granger. She is now his best remaining friend, and rumors have swirled for years – both at Hogwarts and in the press – that the two of them are romantically involved." Draco had pronounced "Golden Trio" with as much venom as he could muster, but Voldemort noticed that the idea of Potter – scion of two wealthy and influential pureblood families – had gotten involved with a Mudblood inspired even greater spite in him.

"Snape tells us that the Mudblood is now living with Potter at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, where they are obviously untouchable. However, we believe that if we were to kidnap Granger's parents, a promise of their release would be enough to persuade Potter to join our ranks. That is the heart of our plan, my Lord."

Malfoy then proceeded to lay out a remarkably convoluted scheme to kidnap the Granger family that revolved around setting fire to their house and casting the Imperius curse on firefighters sent to put out the blaze. He had begun to delineate the backup plan, which was to send Imperiused policemen to arrest the Grangers at their dental practice when Voldemort finally could not take it any longer and cut him off.

"Thank you, Draco. This is quite a fine plan you have devised," he said, his cold high-pitched voice like an iron fist beneath a silk glove. The junior Death Eater bowed ostentatiously. "May I ask you just one question, though?"

"Anything, my Lord!" Draco's voice was full of pride, but Snape and Wormtail subtly backed away. The Dark Lord never asked permission for anything unless he was about to inflict particularly horrible pain upon a victim.

Voldemort conjured an easel with a detailed map of Great Britain upon it. "Can you point out on this map where the Grangers live? Here, put a pin in their city." Voldemort conjured a green pushpin and Banished it at Draco, who caught it.

Draco strode toward the easel with the intent of putting the pin in dot marked "London," but found that he could not; some invisible force pushed his hand aside before it reached its mark. Draco looked at Voldemort hopelessly and saw that his master was watching him with an arched eyebrow.

"Is there something wrong with that pin," Voldemort asked, no longer bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Here, try one of these." The Dark Lord conjured some twenty more green pushpins, which fell to the carpeted floor and scattered around Draco's feet.

Even Draco realized now that he had done something terribly wrong, but he did not dare refuse an order from his master. He knelt down to pick one up but went sprawling over when a boot connected with his back. Lord Voldemort had risen from his throne and kicked the Malfoy scion to the ground.

The evil wizard leaned over Draco's ear and hissed, "It won't work, you idiot." Voldemort straightened up and flicked his wand. Instantly, all the pushpins scattered about the floor were transfigured into ice picks. With another two waves, the picks became red hot and then began attacking Draco, flying at him and stabbing him repeatedly in the arms, legs and back as he desperately curled into a fetal position to protect his vital organs.

Voldemort turned his back on Draco's screams and turned to Snape and Wormtail. "The Grangers' home is fortified with every magical defense Dumbledore has to offer, save the Fidelius Charm. Any attempt to kidnap or kill them would take a full-scale assault to succeed, and would waste resources that I need for my other plans."

He fixed Snape with a particularly malevolent glare. "Listen to me carefully for I will only say this once," he hissed. "If this task were in any way easy, I would have done it already. _Do not_ come back to me with another plan like this one, for you will regret it. Now get out of my sight." Voldemort dismissed the pair with his hand and Wormtail and Snape bolted from the room, eternally pleased that they had escaped without a round of torture.

Voldemort cancelled the ice picks' assault on Draco and called for a house-elf to take the boy away and give him medical care. When he finally was alone, he retrieved his portable Wireless receiver and tuned it to the station the game had been on.

"Well folks that's all from Tutshill Stadium for this evening," the announcer said. "Once again, the Harpies have defeated the Tornadoes by the score of 280 to 240, for Jon Morgan and Andrew Aaronson, I'm Joe Miller." The station began playing a new Celestina Warbeck song and Voldemort clicked the device off in disgust.

"Typical."

* * *

As he listened to the prophecy, Harry's first thought was to notice how very similar the wording was to the original. If Dumbledore had manipulated his memory from the Penseive, it would not have taken much effort to tweak it into his version.

But had he? Harry had only known Grabtooth for a little over a month. As for Blaise well, he didn't know her at all, except that she had never seemed to be in Malfoy's group. Even still, she was a Slytherin, wasn't she? Couldn't she also be a Death Eater in training, only less _obvious_ about it than Malfoy?

But then Harry remembered his encounter with Dumbledore after the goblins had shown him Sirius' Will. He remembered the look of complete panic and fury that had crossed Dumbledore's face as he asked Harry about his involvement with the goblins. At the time, Harry had wondered what had inspired this much fear in the normally unflappable Headmaster, the same one who had sat serenely by as Harry destroyed his office after revealing the prophecy just a month earlier. _This_ was it.

Harry reached over and grabbed the parchment where Hermione had copied down Trelawney's words and read the prophecy again, to make sure he had not missed anything.

It read:

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_

_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his servant, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_

_The Dark Lord must die at the hand of The One for neither can rule while the other survives_

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies_

The sound of shrill yelling brought Harry out of his contemplation. "This can't possibly be right!" Tonks was in a mild state of hysteria. "_The Dark Lord will mark him as his servant_," she quoted frantically. "Harry would sooner die than join the Death Eaters!"

Hermione was biting her lip, a sure sign that she was either thinking very hard or else very upset. Whichever it was – and Harry realized that in this instance it might be both – she was not talking.

In fact, Blaise was first to respond to Tonks. "I don't doubt that Harry would never _voluntarily_ join the Death Eaters," she began. "But in this instance he might not have a choice. Voldemort knows that your continued survival makes him look weak. Not counting your famous encounter when you were a baby, Voldemort has personally tried to kill you four times, including twice since he regained his body. He's able to explain it away to the Death Eaters by noting how lucky you have been, but he knows that a third failed attempt on your life would have disastrous effects on his credibility. He might even face another mutiny like the ones that plagued him in his first reign. So, rather than risk another failed murder attempt, he will recruit you into the Death Eaters. If you can't beat 'em…" Blaise trailed off, leaving the proverb unfinished but her meaning clear.

Harry was impressed that Blaise could say Voldemort's name but was not sold. "So let him try and recruit me then," he said defiantly. "Why would Voldemort be any more successful at that than he would at killing me?"

Blaise shook her head sadly. "I forget that you are somewhat new to our world, Harry. Voldemort would succeed because he has never, _ever_ failed in recruiting someone that he wanted. Think about this, Harry. It's very easy for you to say now that you would never join Voldemort, but you've never seen his methods. What would you do if he kidnapped Arthur and Molly Weasley and said he'd kill them if you didn't join?"

"I'd try to rescue them," said Harry instantly.

"And if you couldn't?" asked Blaise. "What if he was housing them in the deepest dungeons of his lair, guarded 24/7 by dementors, werewolves, a squadron of Death Eaters and Voldemort himself?" Harry was stumped, and Blaise pressed her advantage. "What if Voldemort kidnapped Hermione, Harry? What if he said he'd send you a new body part of hers every day you didn't join him? What if he sent you photographs of her being cut, burned, whipped or raped? How long would you last before you signed up?"

Harry and Hermione blanched and Blaise backed off. "I'm not trying to upset you," she said, giving what was clearly supposed to be a reassuring nod to Hermione. "I'm merely trying to make you aware of the methods the Dark Lord uses. It isn't as simple as him politely asking."

Blaise sighed. "Besides, even if you managed to resist his tactics, that's no guarantee you wouldn't wind up serving him. Tell me, do you have any connection to Voldemort though that famous scar of yours?:

Harry could only nod, incredulous that Blaise could know such a thing. "My father is an Unspeakable, Harry. Perhaps you've heard of him, he goes by the codename 'Croaker.' Anyhow, it is fairly common that a curse scar forges some sort of connection between the curser and the cursed, usually in the form of a extra-sensory perception to detect when the other is nearby. But a scar from a curse that strong, and right on your head too…I would not be surprised if Voldemort was able to possess you – or at least influence your thoughts – through that scar. If nothing else, he should be able to put you through unspeakable torment by sending visions designed to break your spirit if you will not join him. Harry, he will break you and you will join him, whether you want to or not."

"The only question, then," Blaise continued, "is whether you join him on your own terms or on his terms, and obviously if you're coming to him after he's threatened to kill the Weasleys, you're not exactly in a strong bargaining position. What I…or rather, what _we _think," and here Blaise made a motion indicating Grabtooth as well, "is that you ought to join Voldemort of your own free will."

Harry scoffed. "Fuck that!" he spat, and he made to stand up, but Hermione's arm stayed his ascent.

"I think I understand," she said, eyeing Blaise closely. "You're convinced that Harry will become a servant of Voldemort's no matter what he does, because of this prophecy." Blaise nodded.

"And you want to make sure that Harry becomes a Death Eater under the most favorable conditions possible…so that he can have the most negotiating room over what role he'll fill among the Death Eaters?" Blaise nodded again.

"And this is important because what role he plays will play a key role in determining how much of his soul he retains for when Voldemort has been killed."

"Exactly," said Blaise, and this time she gave Hermione a smile that could only be described as heart-stopping; Harry was briefly reminded of a recurring dream he'd had about what the pretty Slytherin girl might have wanted to do in this meeting, but quickly shook himself out of it.

Blaise was talking again. "Harry, you've used the Unforgivable curses, you know the feeling of euphoria that you get after using them. It's highly addictive and it corrupts your soul. You must remember the rest of the prophecy: _The Dark Lord must die at the hand of The One for neither can rule while the other survives_. It isn't said explicitly, but the implication is clear: once you kill Voldemort, you will rule this country, at least for a little while. The question becomes simple: will you govern with the attempt to undo the evil Voldemort has wrought? Or will you be just like him, an evil wizard corrupted by dark magic and seeking only to cause death and destruction?"

Blaise paused for a deep breath, and continued with a righteous passion that Harry had only ever seen when Hermione reached the climax of her S.P.E.W. rants. "Dumbledore thinks you're doomed to the latter. His overriding goal is to keep you as weak as possible so that after you kill Voldemort, he can kill you without too much trouble. He sees you as a weapon, plain and simple.

"But I don't, Harry. I think that if you do this properly, you can lead us to great things. You can fundamentally change the wizarding world in a million positive ways. And if it's at all possible, I'd like to be there at your side when you do it. You don't know me Harry, but I know you enough to see your potential. I believe in you and if you'll let me, I'll follow you to the end."

Harry studied the blonde Slytherin as intensely as he could, watching closely for any sign that this might all be a trick, some crack in the girl's countenance that might reveal treachery. He found none. Instead, Harry was again struck by the passion and certainty in her eyes and knew that Blaise believed every word she had spoken.

Harry looked at Grabtooth and was unsurprised to find that the goblin was fixing him with his usual calculating stare. As far as Harry knew, the goblins were a cunning and greedy race, but not an evil one. They valued money above almost all else to be sure, but they scorned short-term windfalls in favor of continuous long-term growth. Grabtooth would not have allowed himself to be bribed into this meeting, not if it would benefit Voldemort. Goblins knew their lot would be much worse under rule by the Dark Lord.

Harry turned to Tonks and Hermione. Tonks looked apprehensive, Hermione was resolute. The girls would follow him, no doubt about that. Tonks would follow him out of family loyalty if for no other reason and Hermione…Hermione seemed to know more about the situation than he did and she was sure of herself. The last of the Golden Trio would follow him to the gates of Hell whether he asked or not. As if to confirm his thoughts, Hermione gave a small nod.

Finally, Harry spoke. "OK, Blaise," he said, turning to the blonde once more. "I'm in. How do we do this?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** First, I realized that I've yet to come up with a consistent style for formatting the beginning of my author's notes - sometimes i use "AN:" or "**A/N**" and any number of other variations. I've decided I'm going to stick with what I've done for this chapter, it feels right.

Now, to business. A bunch of you responded to my request to leave reviews and to you I say, "thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou." I LOVE REVIEWS!!!! Really can't stress this point enough.

However, as many reviews as I got since I last updated this story, I have the distinct feeling that I could have gotten a lottttt more. So, to further incentivize you to leave reviews, I'm going to go back to giving shoutouts to good reviewers in these Author's Notes. If you want to see your screenname in print, all you have to do is leave a good review. Here's this chapter's bunch (not in any particular order):

To **Thyrokio2**: Your review about how killing a house-elf in front of Hermione would be like drowning thousands of puppies made me laugh hellllllllaaaaaa hard. Very well played.

To **LilTank:** I doubt very much that you'll see this, but on the off chance that you do, here goes nothing. Yours was the first negative review this story has received in a long time (probably a function of the big gaps between updates lol), so I've got to give it airtime. Your criticism that the first chapter or 2 are cliched is absolutely a legitimate one. In fact, I am the first one to admit that the first couple chapters don't rate very high on the originality meter. However, I think that if you can overlook them and keep going into the meat of the story (which is just now beginning), I believe you'll find this story to be quite original and better written than 99% of fan fiction to boot.

To **LoireLoa: **Read my above note to LilTank, although with a grain of salt because you seem to already be doing what I suggested LilTank do. Thanks so much for the thoughtful review!

To **Loony Dagda:** I think I answered most of your questions in this chapter, but I just wanted to give a shout-out because your review made me smile more than usual. Keep sending me your thoughts!

To **Alorkin:** Yours is easily the longest review ever submitted to this story. I've already PMed you my thoughts about it, but I just wanted to publicly thank you for the kind words and insight.

That's 5, so I'll leave it there. If I didn't respond to your review, please please please do not be offended you are just as valuable to me as the others. Keep reviewing!

To answer some more general queries that seem to come up frequently:

-For all of you getting headaches from following my numbers clue...keep trying! Send me your thoughts! You'll get nothing more out of me though, unless you PM me.

-If you are wondering why Blaise is a girl...the name "Blaise" is gender-neutral and until Book 6, JKR does not define Blaise's gender. Remember that nothing after Book 5 is canon in my HP Universe. I think the character is more interesting if she's female, so female she is. If you're wondering why she's blonde...its because blondes have more fun LDO

-The last chapter was the 2nd longest of the whole story, so those of you complaining it was "short" are way off base. That said, I obviously made this one longer. Don't think you can bully me into long updates all the time though.

I don't think anything else really needs to be said. As always, if you have questions or thoughts or anything else you'd like to share with me, leave a review or send a PM! Until next time...


	9. The Snake's Jaw

**Author's Note:** For the latest in RotA notes and updates, follow me on Twitter at .com/SupremoStories

On with the show...

* * *

Disclaimer: I have more money in my Full Tilt Poker account than I do in my bank account. The owner of the Harry Potter series has more money in her bank account than Liberia. Infer what you will

Chapter Eight: The Snake's Jaw

After his meeting with Blaise, Harry's birthday had gone about as smoothly as it could have, all things considered. While he was still shell-shocked by the new prophecy and Blaise's plan, he still managed to have a highly enjoyable time. Harry had invited Blaise to spend the rest of the day with himself, Hermione and Tonks, and so the whole group – Grabtooth and Stillstone included – made their way to Gringotts for the reading of the Potter will. This was a relatively simple affair; Lily and James had simply left everything to Harry and Sirius, which of course meant that all of it went to Harry. It had been a sad moment when Harry realized that Lupin had not been left anything because his parents had believed him a spy, and another one when he realized that even 15 years ago, his family had had no living relatives.

Still, for the first time in his life, Harry had actually celebrated his birthday. Even if they had never left the confines of the Leaky Cauldron, the company of the three girls would certainly have been sufficient to rate his 16th as Harry's best birthday. After the will reading, Tonks determined that a wizard of Harry's stature ought to always be dressed in the finest attire available and dragged the young noble along on a several-hour tour of Diagon Alley's finest clothiers. After dinner, an extravagant affair at another top Muggle restaurant Hermione knew through her parents, the group returned to Grimmauld Place briefly to slip into some of their new purchases before heading out to Alchemy, the largest Wizarding nightclub in London. Harry did not remember much from this night as the management had been all too willing to supply the Boy-Who-Lived with a private table in the VIW section and a seemingly endless supply of magical spirits, although a receipt from the Knight Bus told Harry that he and the girls had arrived back at Grimmauld Place at 5:20am.

When he had finally stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen the following afternoon, Harry was shocked to see the lead headline of _The Daily Prophet_.

**The Chosen Drunk? Harry Potter Turns 16 With a Bang**

_Boy Savior Has Alcohol-Fueled Birthday Bash With Auror, Classmates at Alchemy_

_Pictures in Style section, pages 1-5_

As Harry began to skim through the article, Hermione joined him at the rough kitchen table and laughed slightly when she saw what he was reading.

"This really isn't funny, you know," said Harry, who had decided to at least skim the article before he had to face the pictures. "_Though the his table was kept stocked with plenty of hard liquor courtesy of Alchemy management, The Boy Who Lived still managed to run up a 1,200 Galleon bar tab by purchasing multiple bottles of premium spirits for every partygoer in attendance. When asked by this reporter to comment on his extravagance, Potter merely yelled, 'IT'S A CELEBRATION, BITCHES!' and resumed dancing_," Harry quoted.

Hermione laughed harder at this, and Harry shook his head in embarrassment. "I suppose that is a little bit funny," he admitted, "but it makes me look like a bloody fool. But there's other parts in here that are legitimately worrisome for us. Like here, it names all three of you…_Potter arrived at the club with three women whom _The Daily Prophet _has since identified as fellow rising 6__th__ Year Hogwarts students Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini along with Auror Nymphadora Tonks._ I mean, at the very least it won't do good for Blaise's prospects in Slytherin if they know we're friends."

"Oh don't worry about that, Harry," said Blaise, who had just entered the room with Tonks. "The rest of my house already knows that I do not share their views. Even if they didn't know that, Voldemort knows who my parents are and can infer my position from that."

Harry nodded and returned to the newspaper, scanning the spread of photographs taken of him and the girls taken the previous night. As far as he was concerned, most of the photos were relatively mundane, simply depicting his interactions at his table and dancing out on the floor. In the only one he considered particularly interesting, Harry's photographic self was busy ogling a pair of witches snogging on the dance floor, then appeared to notice the camera and started yelling excitedly and waving a lime-green concoction in his hands, sloshing some out of the glass and onto his own head.

Harry was vaguely aware that Tonks and Hermione had begun cooking breakfast – if a meal that began at 2 o'clock could be called that – as he reached up to feel his hair. Sure enough, it was sticky with set-in fruit juice. He glanced over at Blaise, who was watching him and holding back a snicker.

"I seem to have made a bit of an arse of myself," he said sheepishly.

Blaise slid closer to Harry on the wooden bench and playfully bumped him with her shoulder. "That you did," she grinned. "But yours is a cute arse so we'll forgive you for now, yeah?"

Harry simply smirked and returned to the paper. When she wasn't revealing new prophecies and outlining schemes to kill Voldemort, Blaise had a light, outgoing, flirty personality that was a nice compliment to Hermione's passion and Tonks' exuberance. Blaise seemed completely at ease with herself at all times and seemed to rarely deviate from a fundamentally happy baseline mood.

On some level, Harry was aware that Blaise was attempting to use him for her own ends; she was, after all, a Slytherin. By revealing the true prophecy to him and outlining the grand strategy for defeating Voldemort, she was securing a place for herself in his eventual power structure. Blaise certainly had some ideas about how he ought to reorganize Wizarding society once Harry rose to his place at the top and would no doubt press on him to do things her way. However, Harry found that somehow, he didn't really care. Blaise would be loyal to him at least until he demonstrated that he wouldn't be doing things her way, which meant that he could count on her at least until Voldemort's death. At that point, if he happened to agree with Blaise's ideas, she would stay on and help him implement them; if he didn't agree, she would quickly leave of her own accord. There was something comforting about the simplicity of this arrangement, there was none of the part-truths and deception that marked his relationship with Dumbledore – no authority to abuse or trust to betray. And if he gained a new friendship or even a romantic interest through his relationship with Blaise – and Harry suspected at least one of these was likely to occur, he found that he quite enjoyed the company of the girl – so much the better.

Just as would any other 16 year old, Harry found himself thinking about potential romance frequently, perhaps more frequently than normal given the three attractive witches with whom he shared a house. To his own surprise, however, Harry found that he was not more drawn to any of his housemates more than the others; they each had distinct charms that Harry was not sure he could choose between. Blaise had the undeniable sex appeal, Tonks – despite her somewhat goofy nature – had real world experience and perspective, and Hermione had…well, Hermione was simply the most important person in Harry's life, but whether that translated into a relationship beyond the platonic was unclear to him.

Alas, Harry had very little time to spend actually pursuing relations with any of his housemates. The Platinum Quartet – as the four now jokingly referred to themselves – was immersed in preparations for Harry's infiltration of Voldemort's organization, a plot which would have to be executed perfectly to succeed. What little of Harry's time remained was spent learning about the structure of the two lawmaking bodies of which he was to become a member: the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards. Like seemingly all other aspects of the wizarding world, these institutions were governed by needlessly complicated and grossly inefficient rules, not least confusing of which were the ones concerning voting. Unlike Muggle legislatures, where each member typically counted for precisely one vote, hereditary members of the Wizengamot were allotted multiple votes based on a multi-tiered categorizing scheme that ranked the various families according to their age, purity, wealth, and the deeds of their ancestors. The Black Family – though very old and wealthy – had little in the way of truly notable ancestry and fell just short of many of the prescribed milestones and thus their seat was worth only 4 votes. The Potters, on the other hand, apparently dated back prior to the founding of Hogwarts and had on at least one occasion defeated a Dark Lord, meaning that their seat was worth 9 votes. In all, the 13 votes under Harry's control were the most for one individual since Athene Gaunt, who controlled 20 votes after her family merged with the Slytherin line.

Harry was also busy brainstorming plausible excuses for him to leave Hogwarts. It did not necessarily need to be a permanent split from the castle – although that might be easiest – but if Blaise's plan was to work he would have to be able to leave the castle each and every day, without fail. He supposed that if it came down to it, he could simply sneak out of the castle every night using his Invisibility Cloak and the secret passage under the statue of the one-eyed witch, but the journey to Honeydukes' cellar was arduous and Harry doubted he could sustain that trip without raising a great number of questions. Using some sort of reusable Portkey was also possible – Harry knew all too well that one could Portkey off Hogwarts grounds – but he didn't believe for a second that Dumbledore couldn't track at least incoming Portkeys, and it was imperative that Dumbledore not know what he was doing. Still, Harry was not sure how he could leave Hogwarts outright without attracting a huge amount of unwanted attention.

On the Wednesday after his birthday, Harry stepped outside and flagged down the Knight Bus. The girls were busy in a planning session and Harry, never a brilliant tactician, had decided it was high time to begin his portion of the scheme to defeat Voldemort and taken his leave.

"Well I'll be!" exclaimed Stan Shunpike, the pimply and excitable conductor of the Knight Bus. "Look 'ere, Ern! It's 'Arry Potter!"

"Hello," grimaced Harry, cursing himself for not getting around to his Apparition license yet. "How much to get to Newham?"

"Newham?" yelped Stan, "why that'd only be 'bout six Sickles! 'Choo wanna go to Newham fer?"

Harry ignored this question and pushed six Sickles into Stan's hand as he made his way onto the bus and selected one of the rickety chairs on the first level. Struck by a sudden inspiration, Harry placed Temporary Sticking Charms on the back legs of his chair before sitting down and was rewarded when he was not sent sprawling by the bus' first BANG.

"Quite some party you had the other night, eh?" smirked Stan, following Harry to his seat. Harry merely rolled his eyes, but Stan was not done.

"Yep, sure wish I'd'a been at Alchemy that night, ne'er 'ad a bottle o' firewhisky bought by the Chosen One, 'ave I, Ern?"

"Look, Stan, can you do me a favor? Just tell me when we get to Upton Park, alright?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Potter," said Stan. "But 'ow about them ladies at Alchemy, eh? 'Id you get lucky 'at night, then?"

Harry tuned Stan out and focused all his energies on resisting the urge to curse the man. If he was supposed to survive seven months at Voldemort's right hand with his soul intact, he wouldn't do himself any favors by giving the simple conductor his just deserts…

* * *

Lord Voldemort was, as usual, completely fed up with the incompetent fools he was unfortunate enough to call his Death Eaters. Snape and Wormtail were making no progress whatsoever in coming up with a feasible plan to bring Harry Potter into the fold. Most of this failure was due to not knowing precisely where Potter was or how to get a message to him. For instance, it would have been relatively easy to use one of their low-level spies within the Ministry to kidnap Arthur Weasley in the Ministry lobby before he could Apparate to the safety of the Burrow. However, once they had captured Arthur, what would the next step be? Snape reported that Harry had sealed himself off from all contact with the Order of the Phoenix and therefore might not know that Arthur was even missing for several days.

Voldemort supposed that he could issue some sort of public message, perhaps writing "Harry Potter: Join me now or Arthur Weasley dies" in blood on a wall someplace. The problem with that idea, however, was precisely _that_ it was so public; Potter would become an intense object of suspicion forevermore and lose his incredible potential value as a spy. Indeed, Voldemort wasn't sure he ever wanted the public at large to know the Boy Who Lived was a Death Eater, and certainly not before Dumbledore was killed and the Ministry fell. Once that happened, Potter would be the natural rallying point for anyone who dared to still oppose Voldemort's power. Potter could draw all the dissenters into one meeting, and then Voldemort would arrive and slaughter them all. Voldemort grinned at the thought.

The grin quickly melted into a frown as Voldemort's thoughts drifted to Potter's classmate Draco Malfoy. Since he had attacked the boy, Draco had simply lost his nerve. The once irrepressibly arrogant aristocratic scion had become a shell of his former self: where he had once strutted, he now skulked; jumping at small noises and squashing all independent thoughts before he could articulate them. On the rare occasion Draco became aware that Voldemort was watching him he would cower in fear until the Dark Lord had passed. Voldemort always strove to ensure that his followers were sufficiently afraid of him that they would follow orders without question and such, but the level of terror Draco was exhibiting now was simply counter-productive. Worse, it was unclear to Voldemort whether a strong Cruciatus Curse would set the boy right or only further damage him.

In the old days, of course, Voldemort would have happily cursed Draco without a second thought, consequences for the boy's psyche be damned. But today, the situation had changed. As useless as the boy was in his present condition, a completely catatonic Malfoy would be worse, and Voldemort simply didn't have enough followers to waste Draco right now. Worse than that, Lucius Malfoy would be furious if he found out that  
Voldemort had ruined Draco, and despite being in Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy was one of the few Death Eaters with enough cachet with the rest to start a full-blown mutiny. Again, in the old days, Voldemort could simply have killed Malfoy to preempt the thread but today he simply couldn't afford the loss. And so, Lucius Malfoy, despite his idiocy and his threat to Voldemort's reign, would live and his son Draco would continue in his uselessness unpunished.

Voldemort sighed and shifted restlessly in his throne. There was no Quidditch on today, he had read every book worth his time in the Malfoy library and he just wasn't in the mood for a routine spot of Muggle torture…it was simply too easy. Voldemort needed a challenge – perhaps not an insurmountable one like storming Hogwarts on his own, but something that would legitimately test his cunning and magical skill, something he could feel proud about when he had completed it. Voldemort's eyes drifted down to the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ on the end table next to his throne and watched the small photographic version of Minister Fudge on the front page give some sort of speech.

Struck by a sudden inspiration, Voldemort summoned his house elf and ordered it to bring Snape to him. While he waited for the Potions Master to arrive, the Dark Lord allowed himself a grin. He had a solution to both of his problems.

* * *

Harry stepped out of the stairwell on the third floor of The Napoleonic, a dingy apartment complex in Newham. The building had been constructed in the height of the Cold War and though there were few better places to live in the event of a nuclear exchange, it was sorely lacking in all aesthetic respects. Harry walked down the barren, once-white cinderblock hallway toward room 314, Harry couldn't help but think about what a depressing place this must have been to grow up in and briefly wondered whether the cupboard under the stairs had not been the bleakest place to spend a childhood.

Harry reached his destination and rapped his knuckles smartly on the door. Before long, the door opened and a diminutive black woman appeared in the frame. "_Yes_," she asked, a distinct edge to her voice. "What do you want? I'm warning you, I don't take well to solicitors."

"Ms. Thomas, I presume," asked Harry. "My name is Harry Potter, I'm here to see Dean and Seamus?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Potter, come right in!" said Ms. Thomas, whose demeanor had instantly defrosted. "The boys are in the other room, can I fix you anything?"

"No thank you, ma'am," said Harry, smiling as he crossed the threshold into the apartment. It was larger than Harry had imagined. The small entryway opened into a large living room, tastefully furnished with the usual Muggle accoutrements. A medium-sized kitchen was partially separated from the far right side of the living room by a generous archway. A hallway presumably leading to the bedrooms exited the left side of the living room. _It's much nicer than you would guess_, thought Harry, who had expected to encounter at least as many rats as humans in the apartment.

Harry helped himself to a large lounger opposite the living room's sofa and loveseat set and looked pleasantly up at Ms. Thomas, who was hovering expectantly.

"The boys are in Dean's bedroom…it's the second door on the left," she said, her voice gaining a faint hint of nerves. "Would you like to join them?"

"No ma'am, what I have to say to them concerns you as well. Please, have a seat." Harry indicated the loveseat with his left hand and yelled down the hallway. "Oy! Dean and Seamus! Get your asses out here!"

The two best friends emerged from the bedroom wearing identical smirks.

"Well, well if it isn't Harry Potter," said Dean, reaching Harry first. "Good to see you've got all the pineapple juice and curacao out of your hair, I was worried they'd have to shave you."

Harry covered his face with a palm and shook his head.

"Yeah Harry, why don't you ever party like that in Gryffindor," asked Seamus. "It would be loads of fun to throw a rager like that in the common room, even if you are a bloody lightweight."

"Can't say I fault you for the company you keep though, Zabini and that Auror are mighty fine catches…hell, even Granger..."

"Stuff it, both of you," said Harry, cutting Dean off and ignoring Seamus' sniggers. "I'm here on serious business, both of you know that."

"Yeah we know, Harry," said Seamus, sobering himself. "What's going on, your letter wasn't particularly illuminating." Dean nodded his agreement.

"Well, you guys obviously know that the war against Voldemort is about to heat up. And you also know that one way or another, I'm going to be a key player in the war, right? With me so far?"

Both teens nodded.

"That's good that both of you understand that. Unfortunately, there are other people – highly placed, important people – who are not so convinced. Very soon, I am going to have to demonstrate to these people that I am a valuable asset. Still with me?"

Again, Dean and Seamus nodded.

"It is my belief that there are a great number of people – both our age and older – that would follow me rather than the Ministry or even Dumbledore. I believe that this is my real value in this war, as a leader and a rallying point for the forces of good…"

"So you're looking to make the D.A. a little _more_ extracurricular," said Dean, cutting off Harry's sentence

"You're close," said Harry, smiling. "I see no need to involve the mouth-breathers, young ones and traitors from the old D.A., nor do I see any utility in limiting membership to present or even recent Hogwarts students. You should also know that I'm not asking for your oath or absolute commitment right this moment. I want you to think on this for a few days."

"What sort of commitment will you be looking for in the future? What level of danger are we in for?"

"I'm not looking for people to follow me into open, full-scale battle," said Harry. "This group will be involved in much more covert actions than that. But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you some of our activities will involve mortal risk. I wouldn't let you go into those situations unprepared, however. You'll be trained in advanced combat and other areas to ensure you can defend yourself and give at least as good as you get. "

Harry turned to Ms. Thomas now and said, "That's the main reason you're here, Ms. Thomas. In addition to the danger, you ought to know that if Dean will join me, he's going to need to come live with me. I own a small chain of islands in the Mediterranean and Dean would need to be there for the large majority of the summer and Christmas holidays."

"I just don't understand," said Ms. Thomas. "Why must you be the ones fighting the war? What about your Headmaster, Dumbledore?"

"To put it bluntly, Professor Dumbledore doesn't intend for me to live through the end of this conflict. In fact, if I don't die of my own accord, I am convinced he will kill me himself." Everyone in the room gasped, and Seamus in particular goggled at Harry in disbelief.

"But wh…"

"I can't get into why right now," said Harry. "The reason why is an extremely closely held secret, but trust me when I say that Dumbledore means to see me dead before this war ends. He has his reasons; they're even good reasons if you accept his flawed premises. But obviously, I'm not going to accept that outcome. So I'm going at this alone."

"Harry, mate," said Seamus, speaking for the first time. "Dumbledore wanting to kill you is the most insane thing I've ever heard. But I've taken you for a liar before and I've learned me lesson. I know you said you wanted me to wait, and me mam'll throw a fit, but my mind's made up. If this is true, I'm with ya 'til the end."

Dean took a long, heavy glance at Seamus and then at his mother, who had apparently yet to fully process everything. After a minute, he nodded his assent too.

* * *

Over the next several days, Harry had similar meetings with many of the D.A. Though a handful – the Weasley twins, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and (strangely, Harry thought) Ernie Macmillan – gave Harry swift and unequivocal declarations of support, the rest were more cautious in their response. It was as Harry had expected: despite the bond that had developed in the previous year, it was unrealistic to expect a bunch of teenagers to commit their lives to him on a moment's notice. He had also sent Tonks to take the temperature of Kingsley, Moody and Lupin. Though Harry had little interest in having the older wizards active in the operational side of his group, but they would be highly useful as spies and potentially even as instructors once Harry had his group settled on Alphard's Atoll.

For their part, the female contingent of the Platinum Quartet was starting to make great breakthroughs. Two mornings after Harry met with Luna (from which Harry had emerged more unsure about Luna's status in his group than when he arrived), the Boy Who Lived had his breakfast interrupted by a massive flickering of the kitchen's lights and a high-pitched shout of joy from above. Harry climbed the staircase to the library to investigate and found all three witches high-fiving each other and sporting ear-to-ear grins.

"What's going on," Harry asked, a touch bemused by the girls' antics.

"Oh Harry, it's wonderful!" exclaimed Hermione, rushing over and pulling him bodily into the thick of their celebration. "Blaise congealed ambient magic!"

"And she got the pulse?"

Hermione simply nodded emphatically and bit her lip in a vain attempt to regain composure.

Harry could not help but grin broadly at this news. Though wizards had perfected many stealth techniques – including, of course, making themselves invisible and silent – there was no spell that could fool Muggle motion detectors, pressure sensors, and trip lasers. For most of wizardkind this deficiency was perfectly acceptable, but it was almost devastating for Harry, Hermione, Blaise and Tonks and their plan to kill Voldemort. The four had scoured the library for any reference to such spells when Hermione hit upon the answer. Knowing that high concentrations of magic were highly disruptive to electronic equipment, Hermione theorized that if one could force the ambient magic of a given area into a small, concentrated ball, the ambient magic would combine with the magic used to capture it. When this process completed, the ball of magic would collapse upon itself and produce a massive pulse of raw magic. If done in the presence of Muggle electronics, this pulse would have the same effect as the EMP blast accompanying a nuclear bomb, overloading any electronic device in range with magical energy and causing it to shut down. If the theory was accurate, one could create the pulse in a room secured by any combination of advanced Muggle security measures and then walk through without setting off so much as a fire alarm.

"You want to go test it?"

"YES," said Blaise, noticing Harry for the first time. "Where should we go?"

"I dunno, go rob a bank or something," said Harry, still smiling. "Just make sure it's a really big one, we can't be too careful with this."

"Aye aye, captain," said Tonks and the three girls scurried out of the room, still tittering excitedly. Harry smiled one more time before summoning Kreacher.

"You called, _Master_," sneered the aged house elf. "How ever can I be of service to you?"

"I need a complete list of all the Black Penthouse locations right away," he told the elf. "Be a good elf and fetch that for me now."

"Yes, _Master_," sneered the elf again before wandering out of the room. Harry was disappointed that the elf hadn't issued one of his trademark muttered rants, but assumed that Blaise or Tonks had ordered it to stop, and put it out of his mind.

When the girls returned a half hour later, they found Harry at the desk in his bedroom, going through a large stack of folders. Hermione knocked on the already-open door to announce their presence.

"Oh excellent, come in come in," said Harry. "How did it go?"

"Well," said Blaise as she and Hermione entered the room took seats on Harry's bed. Tonks remained standing. "The pulse knocked out the trip lasers, pressure sensors and motion detectors of the vault, as well as the sensors on the doors of the safe deposit boxes. So we were able to access anything we wanted in the vault."

"The only snag was that it didn't knock out the sensors by the door that trigger when a bundle of cash passes out of the vault," said Tonks.

"But we're not really expecting the museum to employ anything like that are we," asked Harry.

"Nope, no chance," said Hermione. "They would risk damaging an invaluable artifact by embedding a security feature like that in it. We'll be just fine."

"Awesome," said Harry. "Help me out on this then, would you?" He indicated the large stack of folders on the desk. "I'm not sure which of the Penthouses we should use to get there…the Blacks never got one in Cairo for some reason."

"Not a big enough port, I expect," said Hermione. "They got those to oversee the shipping business, right?"

"Yeah good point," said Harry. "Anyhow, the two closest ones are in Port Said and Jeddah. Said is obviously much closer but I worry that its not really large enough to have a Portkey office that speaks English…"

"Don't worry about that Harry," said Blaise. "We don't want to travel as wizards anyways. You'll be a recognizable face even to Middle Eastern wizards and we want to leave as few tracks as possible…if Voldemort figure,s out or even suspects what we're up to this will never work."

"Blaise is right," said Tonks, who was starting to pace. "It would probably be helpful if you were seen in public in London on the evening we do it, and again the following morning…preferably with some plausible story for where you were between those times…"

Tonks turned suddenly and stared at Blaise. It was apparently a meaningful look, because after a brief moment, Blaise let out a soft "oh," and then nodded decisively at the Auror. Harry was bewildered by all of this, but Tonks answered his question before he could ask it.

"Harry, you're going to need to go on a date with Blaise...two dates actually."

"Huh?" Harry didn't see what this had to do with anything.

"Don't you see, Harry? If you take Blaise out to some posh restaurant in Diagon Alley the night we steal it…I don't know, Pewter or Bulstrode's or some place like that…and then you take her out for breakfast the next morning in Diagon Alley again, the gossip reporters will go nuts! '_Harry Potter has posh date in Diagon Alley,_' '_Blaise Zabini: The Chosen One's Chosen One?_'…this will be headline news for probably a week! Every wizard in Britain will 'know' that you spent that night having wild sex, its perfect!"

"Wait…"

"Even better," said Blaise, running with the idea, "we let them see Harry take me back to The Leaky Cauldron. We'll rent a room and let the reporters see us go up into it. Once we're inside we can seal the door, put up an Imperturbable Charm, maybe have Harry cast a couple contraceptive charms on the off chance the Ministry's got any sensors up, and then we can take a Portkey to Heathrow and take the next plane to Cairo as Muggles! Then after we get back, we take another Portkey back into the room, emerge wearing the same clothes as last night and go get breakfast! That's as airtight an alibi as I can think of!"

"Now wait, hold on just one minute," said Harry, who was frankly dizzied by the girls' pace. They quieted and he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. Given this space to think, he saw the merits of this new wrinkle in the plan, but wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go through with it. Even under the best of circumstances Harry wasn't very keen on his fame and this use for it seemed, well, downright humiliating. Harry couldn't find a way to express this objection without seeming whiny, so instead he settled on asking, "Why Blaise? I mean obviously I haven't got anything against you but…"

"Well obviously it has to be one of the three of us," said Tonks. "We're the ones you took to Alchemy, we're the ones who are clued in on the plan. Of the three of us, I think Blaise is the most believable for this type of thing. For one, I would seem just a touch too old for you…"

"And Hermione?" asked Harry.

"It would be a closer call with her," said Tonks, "especially since there's been speculation about the two of you on the gossip pages for years now. But I think if you and Hermione were to get together, you wouldn't do it so publicly and – no offense Blaise – but Hermione doesn't really come off as the type to shag a bloke on a first date, even if that bloke is 'The Chosen One.' On the other hand, Blaise has never been romantically linked with you, she'll be new and exciting and speculation will run wild for a long time. I worry that if it was Hermione the stories would be of the "we were right all along" variety and they'll lose interest more quickly…we want this to play for as long as possible."

"What do you think of this, Hermione?" asked Harry, hoping that if she objected too he could seem reasonable in a refusal.

"It's a good idea so long as Blaise is comfortable with it," she said, dashing Harry's hopes. She turned to Blaise. "I know you've said you're already a target and you're alright with that, but being perceived as Harry Potter's girlfriend would make your personal danger skyrocket; I think the only people higher on Voldemort's hit list would be Harry himself and Dumbledore. Maybe the Minister, too. On top of that, this will be embarrassing, you'll probably be open to a fair bit of ridicule at Hogwarts, maybe even get a reputation for being 'easy.'"

Blaise gave a soft laugh. "Not to sound arrogant, but I doubt the level of male attention paid to me at Hogwarts _could_ increase that substantially." She paused and grew more serious. "Honestly though, I knew what dangers I was opening myself to as soon as I heard the prophecy and decided to tell Harry about it. I'm 100% behind Harry and I'm 100% behind this mission to kill Voldemort, no matter what. So what do you say, Harry?"

Harry knew that after Blaise's answer, he could not refuse without looking petty and immature. He gave a small, nearly inaudible sigh and smiled at the blonde. "When can the three of you be ready?"

"Time is of the essence," said Blaise. "We're going to have to move quickly because I don't think Voldemort will hold off on recruiting you much longer. Plus, you're going to want to get everyone settled at the Atoll before they go off to school. With that in mind…how's Friday night?"

"If you're gonna be ready by then, sounds fine to me," said Harry.

"Oh we'll be ready," said Blaise. "We steal it Friday night, and then you go to Voldemort on Saturday."

Harry nodded.

"Let's do it."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Once again, just a quick reminder that for the latest updates on RotA you can follow me on twitter at /SupremoStories. Just to give you an idea of the frequency with which I'm updating the twitter, I started the twitter account on September 27 when I was about 4 pages into this chapter and tweeted 37 times about my progress. If I can get a bunch of followers who are keeping me on my toes with SupremoStories messages, I expect that frequency will go up (as will the speed at which I update). So yeah, if you're interested about how the next update is coming, definitely check that out. So far I have two followers, who I'll give a brief shoutout to here: **nostresreges**, which is the account shared by the three excellent authors of _VINCET _and _VULTUS SERPENTIS_, which are perhaps the best "Let's rewrite the Harry Potter series from the start" stories out there; and **AtrerPotter**, who is working on his first fanfiction story right now.

On with the rest of the note.

First off, I just want to apologize for the relative lack of action in this chapter. I'm almost 100% this is the longest update yet, but its almost entirely expository. Sorry. Things will heat up in the next chapter though, and I think you'll really enjoy that.

Second, another apology. Although some of the delay of this chapter was legitimate (I was without a functional computer for the entire month of August), a lot of it was the result of me getting sucked into other people's stories and neglecting my own. The first of these was _Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall_ by **canoncansodoff**, which is long (350k+ words and not complete) but amazingly well written. The second was _VINCET_ by **nos tres reges**, which is amazing and which we've already discussed. I highly recommend both.

Second (and I don't think I can emphasize this point enough), this is NOT a fic in which Harry takes the DA and forms some sort of ultra-elite combat squadron with them and they start murking Death Eaters/Order of the Phoenix members in open battle left and right. I've used my brain in developing this story, so please please please use yours in trying to decipher it.

Third, for those of you wondering about how Blaise knows what she knows, all will be answered in good time. I can tell you that I've dropped a couple hints (including one gigantic whopping one) already. Hit me with your thoughts either through review, PM or twitter.

On to the Reviews section of the Author's notes! I think I'll follow the precedent from last time and comment on the top 5. So, not in any particular order...

To **LoireLoa: **You come first because you coined the term "Platinum Quartet" which I absolutely love and used twice in this chapter. Mad props. Your points about Harry being alone in his manliness and a pawn of Blaise's are well-taken, and I think you'll have seen the beginnings of a resolution to those problems in this chapter. One of the interesting thigns as this fic progresses is going to be how Harry begins to truly assert himself and go from a passive/reactionary figure into an active one. It will take time, but he's starting down the right road.

To **Del'Cera Osirin:** Thanks so much for the kind words! The pacing of this story is one element that I'm working really hard to get right, although it frequently leads to complications and delays that even I don't like. For instance, I started this chapter planning on having Harry meet Voldemort, but then realized there was a bunch that I had to cover first. All in good time, though! Also, obviously a key part of this story is my characterization of Voldemort, I'm glad you like it. I don't want anyone to get the idea that he's not an evil person because he is, but I'm trying to convey that it is possible to be both evil and a human at the same time and that no one who is evil thinks of themselves in those terms.

To **greywizard-dumblemort: **Like other negative reviewers before you, your general themes and some of your points are valid. However, I think you've misinterpreted some things. First, 4 Privet Drive is not under a Fidelius Charm. Never was in canon, never was in my story, never was in any fanfic i've ever read, actually. Also, Dumbledore has never cared about Harry's well-being at 4 Privet Drive (beyond the extent to which Voldemort and other nasties are kept out) before, so why should he now? This is all a part of his larger plan to keep Harry as weak as possible so that he can be dealt with after he kills Voldemort. Those are somewhat nit-picky points. The main point of that scene, which you apparently missed, was the role that emotion can play in clouding the judgment of even the wisest and most intelligent of men. If you made it as far as even chapter 6, you should be able to see why Dumbledore would be immensely troubled by any unsupervised contact Harry has with the goblins (and indeed, you'll notice that in canon, Harry is never in Gringotts by himself until the robbery in _Deathly Hallows_...he goes there either with the Weasleys or with Hagrid, or Mrs. Weasley 'picks up his things for him.'). Of course in Chapter 3, Dumbledore's specific fears are unfounded - Harry is only getting his Black inheritance in that instance - but when Harry bumps in to Dumbledore, the older wizard doesn't know that. The only things that have registered in his mind are 1) Harry is meeting with goblins and 2) No one was in the room. So he panics, and understandably so. There are a couple of deeper themes I'm trying to explore in this fic: Good vs. Evil as a spectrum rather than a duality, sanity, super-ego and ego vs. id, reason vs. emotion. Dumbledore's outburst is one inroad into the latter of those.

To **BadBonita: **I've already written at length about my characterization of Voldemort, but I'm glad you like it :)

To **madsloth: **Thanks for the review. If you pay close attention to this story, you'll notice that a lot of it is me either subtly poking fun at or outright mocking fanfiction (and more general fiction, like the 'insanely complex plan' movie villains seem to like so much) ideas that irk me. The bit with Malfoy was one of the more obvious ones, the other really obvious one that comes immediately to mind is when Harry is reading in the Black Library and gets annoyed at authors who talk about how "magic is all about intent, i could kill you by levitating you off a cliff" etc etc. Try rereading RotA looking for this, I'll be interested to see how many you can find.

**FAQs**

**-What elements from HBP/DH are you going to have in your story? How does Harry deal with Horcruxes?** Horcruxes do not exist in RotA, and neither do the Deahtly Hallows. There will be occasional borrowed elements from books 6 and 7, but typically they will be somewhat altered from the JKR original. For instance, I mentioned _Sectumsempra_ earlier in RotA but had Kingsley refer to it as "the Dark cutting spell" rather than it being something that Snape invented while at Hogwarts. RotA will not follow anything resembling HBP's plotline...in fact, I've already used one really significant departure from the Voldemort backstory given in HBP, look in the beginning of Chapter 3 if you can't remember. As far as any characters that first appear in HBP or DH are concerned, I know I planned on using Slughorn when I started writing but I'm more iffy on him now. I don't think Rufus Scrimgeour will become Minister of Magic in RotA but he may show his face. New Death Eaters like the Carrows or Greyback may also show up. Frankly, I don't have a unifying philosophy for this, apart from "if it makes sense, I'll do it, if not, I wont."

**-WTF is Harry's rank? Is he an Earl, a Count, a Viscount or none of the above or what?** Sigh. One of the biggest problems with the pace at which I've updated RotA is that I've completely bollixed (to borrow a Britishism) this bit up. Suffice it to say that Harry is some sort of nobleman, but that what specific rank he is doesn't really matter to the plot...I think I thought it would be an interesting angle when I started writing, but now I just don't want to deal with it. Harry is wealthy, his family is old, he can make poor people get out of his way if he's walking someplace crowded, that's all you need to know.

That's all for now, thanks so much for reading. Please keep reviewing because you should know I loooove those by now, follow me on twitter, do it all! Until next time...


	10. Joy to the World

**Author's Notes:** As always, for the latest RotA notes and updates, follow me on twitter at /SupremoStories. I promised the good folks on twitter that I would update this story once every two months in 2010...this update is a couple days late but I hope you can forgive me. Please Review!!

On with the show...

* * *

Disclaimer: I'm a 21 year old congressional intern. The owner of the Harry Potter series is a 45 year old billionaire author. Infer what you will.

Chapter 9: Joy to the World

"Look, look! There he is! It's _Harry Potter_!"

"Merlin, so it is! WE LOVE YOU, HARRY!"

"Who's that girl with him?"

"It's that blonde he took to Alchemy isn't it? What was her name? Must be nice…"

"Mr. Potter, over here! Won't you sign something for me? _Mary_, get a quill!"

"Where's he headed?"

"Does the _Prophet_ know about this yet? Harry Potter before my very eyes!"

"HARRY I LOVE YOU!!!"

Harry set his face with a grin he hoped looked genuine and waved at no one in particular, provoking another raucous cheer from the Diagon Alley crowd watching him lead Blaise down the cobbled street toward Pewter, the ancient bistro favored by well-to-do wizards for centuries. In a gesture that the crowd might have mistaken as protective, Harry pulled the blonde closer to his body and growled into her ear, "You just _had_ to have the twins spread it around that we were coming didn't you?"

"We had to make sure there would be reporters about," she whispered into Harry's ear, kissing him on the cheek and flashing a glowing smile as she did so.

"Its like a bloody parade," Harry whined, giving the crowd another wave. "Look at them, they're lined up three deep along the street, just watching us! Who does that? Don't these people have jobs?"

"It's Friday evening, silly."

"Don't they have _lives_, then? Why aren't these people eating their own dinner instead of watching me _walk_ to mine?"

"You're the biggest celebrity in our world, get used to it," said Blaise patiently. "Besides, the more people who see us, the merrier. You know the plan."

"Whatever, I'd almost rather lose my soul to Voldemort than deal with those morons anymore," exaggerated Harry as they approached the door to Pewter, which opened for them of its own accord. "At least we made it, I thought the walk over here would never end."

The maitre 'd was waiting for the couple as they crossed the threshold into the ancient, wood-paneled establishment. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Zabini thank you for choosing Pewter this evening. May I take you to your table?"

Harry gave the man a curt nod and followed behind Blaise as the maitre 'd led them to a cozy booth in the corner. As he sat down, Harry noticed that all outside noise had been blocked and, upon looking around the rest of the restaurant, realized that he could not see the faces or any other identifying features of the other patrons. Harry was comforted by the privacy – particularly after the insane crowd through which he had just come – but could not help but wonder about how many nefarious deeds had been plotted in this place.

He turned to Blaise and saw that the Slytherin was grinning at him over her menu. "The privacy charms are quite impressive, aren't they?" she asked.

"Very," he said, "Although I don't know how we're going to hear the waiter when he comes by to take our orders."

Blaise giggled. "Oh Harry, sometimes I forget just how very new you are to this world. There are no waiters here, we'll give our orders to the menu and the food will appear before us on these plates. You remember, it's just like at the Yule Ball, unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless nothing besides Cho Chang registered in your mind that night," said Blaise, smirking.

Harry blushed. "You noticed, then?"

"Even if you were a nobody your staring would have been conspicuous," said Blaise lightly. "Throw in the fact that you were Harry Potter and pointedly ignoring your date, who happened to be one of the prettiest and most popular girls in the school…yeah, some people noticed. Shame it didn't work out between you two last year," she offered.

Harry waved Blaise off. "Thanks, but I'm long over her."

"Onto someone else, then?"

Harry simply smirked and ordered a rib steak, which appeared instantly upon his plate. Blaise ordered too, and the pair ate in relative silence, sometimes making light conversation but mostly staying within their own heads. It was a mark of the rapid development of their friendship that neither found the quiet uncomfortable. It was not until they had finished dinner and were nearly through dessert that Harry broached a serious topic.

"Blaise, what do we do if the plan fails?"

The Slytherin was visibly taken aback and did not speak for a moment. Finally, she said, "I don't believe it will fail. The prophecy says…"

"I know what the prophecy says," interrupted Harry, "but even you admit there are almost limitless ways it could be fulfilled. So what if our way doesn't work? What if Voldemort doesn't want to see me every day, or what if he breaks the _Meminisse_ charm or what if…"

"I understand, Harry," said Blaise. "If the plan doesn't work, there are alternatives we can explore. It's possible that inflicting him with some sort of deadly disease or even killing him with Muggle weaponry would fulfill the prophecy. We have options. I don't think we'll be forced to resort to them, though. The plan is sound."

"Very well, if you say so," said Harry. He took a last bite of his tart and then set down his fork. "Ready to go face the hordes?" he asked.

Blaise sighed. "Ready as ever," she said and stood up. Harry left a Gringotts draft for the bill and followed Blaise out of the restaurant.

Almost immediately after crossing the threshold into Diagon Alley, Harry's senses were assaulted by a sudden burst of flashbulbs and yelling; as they had anticipated, a couple dozen members of the wizarding media were camped out in front of Pewter waiting for the couple.

"Nice to see you guys, how's it going?" said Harry with a touch of irony. This sparked another cacophony of yelling from the assembled reporters. Harry made an angry waving gesture at the gaggle and was surprised when it succeeded in quieting them.

"Look," he said, mustering all of his patience, "I'll be happy to answer some questions from you guys but it will only work if we can keep it orderly, right? So raise your hands and wait to be called on." The reporters instantly shoved their fists into the air and Harry, pleased with how quickly he had asserted control, called on a witch in the first row.

"Mr. Potter, what brings you out to Pewter tonight? What's the occasion?"

"Nothing huge really," said Harry. "Blaise and I have recently become a couple, and we decided to celebrate our first night out in style is all. This is a marvelous place by the way, couldn't have had a better first date. Yes, you," he finished, indicating another reporter.

"You and Blaise have never been linked romantically before, so how did this relationship come about? Where did you meet, how did you get to know each other?"

Harry simply laughed. "What, and deny all of you the fun of digging around for yourselves? I'm keen to see what you can come up with on your own. You, go ahead."

"Harry, do you have any thoughts on your upcoming debuts in the Wizengamot and the ICW? Have you contacted Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore for help in preparing yourself at all?" asked the reporter, whose more businesslike robes suggested to Harry that his role was larger than that of a mere gossip reporter.

"I am looking forward to both equally," said Harry. "I hope to be able to do good work in those bodies. I haven't spoken with Dumbledore on any occasion since the run-in you lot reported at the beginning of the summer, however."

"Is that because of the rumored rift between the two of you?" asked the same reporter. "How will your damaged relationship with Dumbledore affect your studies when you return to Hogwarts next month?"

"Aha," said Harry, who was suddenly very nervous. "Well, this seems to be as good a time for this announcement as any. My relationship with Albus Dumbledore will not affect my studies at all…and you'll want to write this next bit down. As of today, I am officially withdrawing from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The gaggle of reporters, once so effectively tamed, erupted.

* * *

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Voldemort muttered to himself. Five minutes ago, the Dark Lord had been sitting comfortably in the throne of his room, listening to his favorite music program on the Wizarding Wireless Network and lazily sipping a most excellent pumpkin spice latte one of the elves had whipped up. Voldemort loved lattes. They provided the caffeine he needed to get through the day after late nights plotting to turn Potter, but had none of the harsh, bitter flavor of straight coffee or espresso and none of the Pepper Up potion's undignified side effects. Of course, none of the Death Eaters knew about this drink preference. Once during the first war, the elder Malfoy had asked what was in Voldemort's goblet. The Dark Lord had replied that he was drinking Muggle blood and Lucius never broached the topic again.

Voldemort was momentarily annoyed but ultimately thrilled when the announcer cut into the regular programming to broadcast Harry Potter's press conference live. In the past week, Voldemort's interest in the teen had escalated into a full-blown obsession. Draco was still useless and had little to say on the subject other than offer some feeble insults about Potter's parentage, but Pansy Parkinson – who was as plugged into the Hogwarts gossip network as anyone – turned out to be a veritable goldmine of information when Voldemort had called her in for questioning. Though Voldemort questioned the veracity of some of her more outlandish tales – it didn't seem particularly likely that Potter had actually driven off a hundred Dementors as a thirteen year old – Pansy's first hand account of Potter's use of Parseltongue had been a watershed moment for the Dark Lord. Before, he had merely wanted the boy as a curiosity, a symbol of his dominance, and if he made a passable Death Eater, so much the better. But now, Voldemort _needed_ Harry. He needed someone he could trust to handle all of his Death Eaters' buffoonery, to take the lead on the operational side of the organization and free Voldemort to work on the big picture unobstructed.

Then Harry had said it. "As of today, I am officially withdrawing from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry." Fifteen words that set Voldemort's heart soaring to the heavens. Of course, Voldemort's immediate reaction had been to spit a mouthful of pumpkin latte all over himself, and that was the reason the Dark Lord was muttering and upset. After a quick _Evanesco_ Voldemort was listening to the press conference, this time with rapt attention.

"Please people, if you can't ask your questions one at a time, I won't answer any of them at all," came Harry's voice through the Wireless headset. The background hubbub died down and the Boy Who Lived called on a reporter.

"Why are you leaving school, Harry? Is it to do with Dumbledore?"

Harry's voice sounded exasperated. "I've commented on my relationship with Dumbledore more times than I care to count. That's not what this is about. I'm leaving Hogwarts because I don't feel like I can follow my true passion to the greatest extent there." There was a pause, and then Harry continued. "That leads me to my second announcement. I have decided that I must be true to myself and pursue my passion for flying as far as it will carry me. Effective since my visit to the Department of Magical Games and Sports…oh, just about three hours ago now, I am now eligible as an unrestricted free agent for the British and Irish Quidditch League."

Rather than being sent into another frenzy, the reporters seemed to have been struck dumb by Harry's second announcement. Finally, one of them recovered enough to ask a question.

"I don't understand," the reporter began. "It's been rumored for years that you wanted to become an Auror upon graduation…why the sudden shift?"

"Well you answered the question yourself," said Harry. "Those were just rumors. In truth, I've never really wanted to be an Auror. Why would I want to spend my life working as a glorified police officer, eternally ordered around by the corrupt and incompetent Ministry? I've loved flying since the very first time I rode a broomstick; it is hardwired into the very core of my being. I'll be flying until the day I die, so why not make a career out of it?"

"But what if you're not good enough to compete in the league?" asked another reporter. "Shouldn't you have school to fall back on?"

"If it turns out I'm not good enough then obviously I'll have to reevaluate my options," said Harry. "I don't think that will be the case, however. And even if it is, well, to be frank, I have more than enough money to live a life of absurd excess without ever cashing a Gringotts draft. Any endeavor I take on will be purely for my own enjoyment, and being an Auror simply does not fit that bill."

"What about the war though, Harry? How can you fight You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters if you don't finish school? Wouldn't you be in the best position to defeat them as an Auror?"

"Are you kidding," asked Harry, and Voldemort thought he heard a smirk in the teen's voice. "There's more ways to help defeat Voldemort than mere violence. I can use my votes in the Wizengamot and the Galleons in my Gringotts account to help the Ministry and others bring that madman to his knees. But even if I were to fight Voldemort directly, am I likely to defeat him with knowledge from NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts? I doubt it."

"But Harry…"

"No 'buts'! I'll remind you that as much as everyone wants me to be the savior, Voldemort is most likely to be killed by an Auror or a mutinying Death Eater, not by me. The only way we can defeat Voldemort is for all of us to come together in that effort; it does no good for everyone to sit back and rest its hopes on one teenager. Now, if you don't mind, Blaise and I are headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. You can follow and ask questions if you like, but we should stop blocking Pewter's door."

Voldemort slowly tuned out as the press followed Harry up Diagon Alley and turned his thoughts inward. This was fantastic news. If Potter was leaving Hogwarts, then he was taking himself completely out of Dumbledore's sphere of influence. The boy would need guidance, he would need a more powerful wizard to mentor him and show him how to unlock his full potential. If he acted quickly, Voldemort knew that he could be that mentor. He did not believe for one second that there truly was no rift between Potter and Dumbledore; why else would they not have spoken in months? Why else would Potter have left Hogwarts?

The Dark Lord paused on this last question. Why _had_ Potter left Hogwarts? The boy said he wanted to play Quidditch. _Quidditch_? Bullshit. Something else was at work here. Harry Potter was planning something, something that he needed to be away from Dumbledore to do. What could that be? Voldemort's first thought was that Harry planned to attack him all on his own, but he dismissed this idea as quickly as it came. To be sure, Potter had a fiercely independent streak and could be foolhardy and rash, but he was not insane or suicidal.

Could the boy perhaps be planning on joining the Death Eaters? This too seemed unlikely, Voldemort was certain that he would need to coerce Potter into his ranks. What was going on then?

Voldemort considered Potter's new girlfriend, Blaise Zabini. Her family was a somewhat old group of purebloods that had come to Britain from Italy a few centuries ago. The past several generations of Zabinis had all been sorted into Slytherin, but none of them had ever shown a particular inclination toward following a Dark Lord. Voldemort himself had coveted Blaise's father during the first war, but the Unspeakable had been extremely skilled at evading the Dark Lord, and Voldemort had been forced to recruit Rookwood instead. He didn't know much about the girl herself other than she wasn't one of Malfoy's group. Voldemort wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or not.

In any event, dating the girl proved that Potter was truly growing apart from Dumbledore. He was certain that if Potter were Dumbledore's Golden Child, he would reflexively hate all Slytherins and would scarcely look at them, let alone date one. Futhermore, if absolutely nothing else, she was now a kidnapping target Voldemort could use to leverage both the elder Zabini and Potter if need be. This was all shaping up well for the Dark Lord.

He returned his thoughts to his plot to get Potter. The heart of his plan was essentially standard operating procedure: he would kidnap someone very close to Harry and use that person's life as leverage to bring the boy into the fold. There were two complications with this in the case of Harry. First, Dumbledore had seen to it that everyone close to the boy was under the stringent security, making it nearly impossible for Voldemort to accost anyone he might want to in their homes. The second complication was the problem of actually getting a message to Potter to let him know that someone had been kidnapped and Voldemort's conditions for that person's release. Potter was sealed up in that infernal hidey-hole the Order had used as its headquarters before Potter's falling-out with Dumbledore, and short of attempting another invasion of the boy's mind – a risk Voldemort was not keen to take – he had no way of contacting the boy there. On top of these was Voldemort's overriding concern for secrecy in this whole affair; he did not want anyone to even suspect that Potter was his before he was ready to make that public.

Voldemort's solution was complex, but he felt it was necessarily so. He knew that the Minister of Magic's office was equipped with owls that could find anyone at any time and deliver a message to them, almost no matter what magical defenses the intended recipient had, including a Fidelius charm. Indeed, the only way for one of these owls to not reach its destination was if there was a very specific ward in place that killed all messenger owls that reached it. Voldemort was certain Harry would not have one of those for it was common knowledge the boy loved his snowy owl dearly, perhaps more than he loved any human. If Voldemort could get at one of those owls, he could be certain to reach Potter.

This in turn led to Voldemort's decision of who to kidnap. Though he could not reasonably attack the Weasleys at the Burrow, he might be able to take Arthur Weasley from his job inside the Ministry. This would be especially convenient if he did it at the same time as he went after the Minister's owls. Thus, the basic outline of the plan was settled: Voldemort would infiltrate the Ministry of Magic under some manner of disguise, kidnap Arthur Weasley, and then steal or otherwise obtain one of the Minister's owls.

Even within this plan there were further obstacles. Following the battle in the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry had instituted a new security system. Magical sensors had been placed in every room and hallway in the ministry and if they detected any offensive magic, the entire building would be locked down and a special squadron of Aurors would be dispatched to the area with the disturbance. If Voldemort wanted to carry out his plan, he'd have to do it without a single curse. The second, albeit less serious, obstacle was that the Minister's office had been warded against all manner of concealment charms for as long as such wards had existed. So he would have to somehow appear as himself while stealing the owl, without allowing anyone to see him and sound the alarm.

It was a tall order, but Voldemort had an idea…

* * *

As Blaise pulled him into the room, Harry allowed himself to smirk and cast a roguish wink over his shoulder at the reporters still following and yelling questions before pulling the blonde into a deep, sensual kiss and kicking the door shut in the faces of his pursuers.

As soon as they heard the door snap into its frame, Harry and Blaise broke apart and cast every privacy charm they knew, Blaise covering the door, Harry the windows. When they finished, the pair grinned and shared a high-five and a hug in the center of the room.

"Well done," said Blaise when the hug ended, her eyes radiating mirth.

"You don't think we overdid it," he asked, also smiling broadly. "I was sort of concerned about…"

"No, I thought squeezing my bum as we went up the stairs was quite a nice touch," interjected Blaise.

"That's not what I was going to ask about," laughed Harry, "I meant the whole bit about following my 'true love of Quidditch.' You honestly think they'll go for that?"

Blaise shrugged. "The press are morons and gossip reporters are especially so. They'll buy it, they'll sell it, and before the end of the week everyone else will have bought it too." Blaise smiled and laid a hand softly on Harry's chest. "Everything went perfectly today, everything _is going_ perfectly."

Harry returned the smile but did not linger. He pulled a Chinese finger trap out of the inner pocket of his robes, inserted his finger and offered the other end to Blaise. "Shall we?" he asked.

Blaise removed her hand from Harry's chest, touched the finger trap and said, "Heathrow." A familiar jerk on the navel, and they were gone.

* * *

"I mean seriously, how _do_ Muggles travel like that?" asked Blaise for what Harry thought had to have been at least the fortieth time. "Stale air, uncomfortable seats, smelly Muggles…and can you believe how _rude_ everyone was? The Muggle in front of me kept raising and lowering his seatback every few minutes, he nearly upset my juice!"

"Stuff it," ordered Harry. "Are you and Tonks ready yet?"

The Platinum Quartet were crouched on the roof of the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, crouching and hugging closely to the dome to minimize the visual distortion effects of their Disillusionment charms. Blaise and Tonks were busy rigging a harness system that would allow the team to enter the museum and deliver the pulse without triggering any of the security systems they were attempting to knock out. This had the added benefit of being completely non-magical; indeed, Hermione had insisted that the whole mission be carried out with as little magic as possible so that magical authorities, who might be made curious by the total failure of the alarm system, would have no reason to investigate further.

"Yeah, we're ready," said Tonks. "All four lines attached and ready to go."

"Then get on with it," said Harry. "Our return flight is in three hours and we'll want plenty of time to get through security."

Blaise passed out the steel rope lines among the team, Harry attached the end of his to carabiner on the harness he had donned hours ago and waited for the rest to follow suit. Soon, the four had lowered themselves into the lobby of the museum and paused, hovering ten feet above the floor. Harry gave a nod to Blaise and the pureblood closed her eyes and began chanting.

It was a beautiful thing to watch. Shortly after Blaise began chanting, the room, illuminated softly by the moon, began to blur. Before long, the blur seemed to condense into soft white streaks until they pervaded the air, obscuring all else. Instinctively, Blaise lifted her arms in front of her and cupped her hands a foot apart, as if she were holding an invisible beach ball. The soft streaks began to drift into the space between Blaise's hands and swirl closer together until they formed a small uneven sphere. More and more streaks joined the sphere, causing it to grow and spin faster than ever before and consequently accelerating the rate at which other streaks were attracted to the sphere. Before long, all the streaks were gone from the air and the sphere, writhing tempestuously, filled the whole space between Blaises' hands. Harry could not help but gaze with unabashed awe at the sphere; his rational brain could not explain it, but he felt the most powerful compulsion he had ever felt toward the sphere. It was perfect and he longed to touch it more than anything in the world. Had he not been so wrapped up in his own obsession with the sphere, he would have noticed that Tonks and Hermione's faces bore the same look of naked desire.

Blaise stopped chanting and opened her eyes, smiling softly at the ball when she saw it. Her gaze lingered for only a moment, however, before she closed her eyes once more and whispered, "_Liberate_."

Instantly, the whole room was filled with white light, brighter than Harry had ever thought possible, blinding Harry along with the rest of the group. As suddenly as it had come, the light disappeared and the team watched as what could only be described as a shockwave of magic raced out of sight down every hallway of the museum. After a couple seconds, Blaise sighed and turned her head to the rest of the group. "It's done," she stated simply, almost as though she was sad to have left the company of the sphere of magic.

Silently, the group lowered themselves the rest of the way to the floor and were pleased when no alarms went off. They quickly detached themselves from their lines and set off: Tonks and Blaise to the King Tut exhibit to liberate it of its most valuable treasures and Hermione to the same location to find the team's true prize.

Meanwhile, Harry strode purposefully to the security room adjacent to the lobby. Inside, he found two Egyptian men squabbling in Arabic, desperately hitting every button on the control panel before them in the vain hope that something would make their monitors come back on. The men stopped and looked up when they saw the door open and close, but being unused to detecting Disillusioned wizards – and indeed, being wholly ignorant to the idea that such a thing might exist – did not see Harry and returned to their hopeless pounding on the control panel.

The corner of Harry's lips twitched slightly into the beginning of a smirk, but he ruthlessly suppressed it. _You must not enjoy this_, he told himself furiously. _You are only doing this because it is necessary!_

Properly cowed, Harry somberly raised a 9mm pistol he purchased from an arms dealer earlier that evening and leveled it at the nearest guard.

_**BANG**_

The guard fell to the ground, instantly dead, bleeding horrifically from the bullet wound in his head. The other guard, his face and uniform spattered with the blood of the first guard, staggered backwards into the far wall in shock and began looking around wildly for the assailant, eyes streaming.

"I'm sorry," Harry said aloud before leveling his gun once more. He meant it. "Muggle thieves would kill you. So too must I."

_**BANG**_

Harry turned away from the gruesome scene he had created and reentered the lobby. He leaned against the wall and shook violently, fighting the urge to vomit. Killing without dark magic to supply false euphoria was horrible. Those men had been innocent, guilty only of being assigned to work at the wrong time on the wrong night. Harry knew he had to do it to maintain the farce that this was a Muggle operation, but he could not help but hate himself. Finally, one thought broke through the self-loathing: _By the grace of Merlin, I hope I can still feel this way in seven months_.

* * *

Several minutes later, when Harry had finally composed himself, he entered the King Tut exhibit where the three girls were hard at work smashing the glass displays and packing the ancient treasures into charmed duffel bags. Hermione was the first to notice Harry and immediately dropped her duffel, ran to his side and wrapped the Boy Who Lived in a hug. Harry returned it, clinging to his best friend with all he had. Blaise and Tonks joined the pair and laid comforting hands on Harry's shoulders; Blaise rubbing his right and Tonks his left.

After a moment, Harry broke the embrace and asked, his voice still somewhat dead, "Have we got it?"

"Yes, I've got the pendant here, Harry," said Hermione softly. She reached into her pants pocket and retrieved a small golden pendant in the shape of a winged cobra. Harry took it from her and examined it closely. It was exactly as depicted in the picture Blaise had shown him on his birthday, which now felt like eons ago. The cobra was reared up in the characteristic threat position, hood flared, mouth open and fangs prominently displayed; it appeared to be hissing. The wings were spread powerfully halfway down the beast's back and were covered in scales.

Seeing the pendant in person had Harry giddy with excitement, his distress over his earlier murders completely forgotten. "Are we sure the enchantment still works?"

"Yes, Harry," said Blaise. "The Golden Amphiptere of Thebes is as potent as ever."

Harry smiled broadly, unable to contain himself. "Then let's pack the rest of this and get out of here. We've got a plane to catch."

* * *

It was 3 a.m. on Sunday morning and Lord Voldemort was readying himself for bed. There was a common misperception – one that Voldemort had worked long and hard to cultivate, for it made him seem less human and thus more scary – among Death Eaters and the general public alike that the Dark Lord did not sleep. In reality, Voldemort simply had a very odd sleeping schedule that typically saw him to bed around four or five in the morning and not awake again until past noon. This had first developed when he was an up-and-coming Dark wizard learning the tricks of the trade; it only took so many midnight raids and past-midnight secret meetings before staying up late became a habit. Nowadays Voldemort genuinely preferred his schedule...there was something calming about the silence and solitude of late nights that he simply couldn't replicate anywhere else.

There were two reasons Voldemort was going to bed so early on this night. The first was that it had simply been a long day. The younger Malfoy had somehow snapped back to his former self and was once again strutting and preening around the manor, acting for all the world like one of the many peacocks that patrolled the grounds. Beyond that, he had learned in the _Daily Prophet_ that all Gringotts accounts belonging to suspected Death Eaters would be partially frozen pending a Wizengamot vote on whether or not to seize them. Though Voldemort had long-since withdrawn all his assets and moved them into investments, Muggle banks and privately-controlled vaults, he knew few of his followers would have had this level of foresight, meaning that a demand for payment for their services as Death Eaters could not be far off.

The second reason was that Voldemort was trying to reset his sleep cycle – if only a little bit – so that he would be well-rested for Monday's assault on Arthur Weasley and the Minister's special owls. In order to get aroHe walked und the Ministry's wards against offensive magic and concealment charms, he had decided that he would simply possess Arthur and make him get the Minister's owls and then go home at lunch due to "illness." The plan was simple and effective, and Voldemort went to sleep confident that Potter would be his by Monday night.

As soon as he lost consciousness and began to dream, Voldemort found himself standing on an infinitely long and infinitely wide white plane. _How odd_, thought Voldemort, who was more accustomed to dreams of brutally torturing and killing the more idiotic among his followers. He walked around for a few steps, but seeing that this accomplished literally nothing, stopped and waited for something to happen.

"Hello," said a familiar voice. The Dark Lord whirled around and saw Harry Potter standing there casually, observing the Dark Lord with a grin.

"Harry Potter," said Voldemort. "How interesting. What are you doing in my dreams?"

"You're not dreaming, technically," said Harry. "Although you did need to be asleep for me to get you here…and Merlin did that take a long time. Do you always stay up so late?"

Deciding it wouldn't be worth it to lie, Voldemort ignored Harry's question. "You haven't answered me," he said, drawing up as much authority as he could. "Why are you here?"

"I've come to grips with the prophecy lately, and I've come to fulfill it," said Harry simply. "Surely you know the one I'm talking about."

Voldemort was nonplussed. "What, you're going to try to kill me _here_? You'd be lucky to so much as wake me up! Stupid boy!" Voldemort turned his back on Harry, as if daring the teen to take a shot at him. _Perhaps I was wrong to covet him so much_, Voldemort began to think, but Harry's next words stopped him dead.

"What makes you think 'fulfilling the prophecy' means me trying to kill you?"

Voldemort turned slowly to face the boy, his mind racing. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that the prophecy won't be fulfilled by either of us killing each other. In fact, it would be fulfilled by the exact opposite," said Harry, grinning at the Dark Lord. "Let me show you."

Harry screwed up his eyes in brief concentration and a large rectangular screen appeared before Voldemort's eyes. Both the Dark Lord and Harry watched as one of Harry's memories materialized and began to play on the screen. They watched together as Stillstone opened the Prophecy Box and as Grabtooth began chanting over the orb in Gobbledegook. Voldemort's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the ghostly figure of Sibyl Trelawney appear out of the orb,

And then she said it. Fifty-nine words that set Voldemort's world on fire.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_

_But the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, for he has powers the Dark Lord values above all_

_And together they shall be invincible, for neither can die while the other survives."_

Voldemort did not question his good fortune. He did not wonder if the memory might have been altered, or if Harry might have his own motives for coming forward. As pure, unmitigated joy coursed through Voldemort's body, only two thoughts broke through into conscious articulation.

_I am finally immortal._

_The world is mine._

_

* * *

_**Author's Note: **As you may or may not have been able to tell_, _this was a somewhat important chapter_. _Allow me to clear up a couple issues that I'm sure are to arise

-Yes, Harry has deceived Voldemort with a fake prophecy of his own. How he accomplished this and how he will maintain the charade for seven months will be revealed shortly, most likely in the next chapter. It would be wise to notice the characterization of Harry in the final scene and the point-of-view from which it was told.

-Yes, you will soon learn about the Golden Amphiptere of Thebes and why Harry and the rest went to such great lengths to steal it. Obviously, the name of the artifact lends itself to title of this fan fiction.

OK, maybe that didn't clear up much at all. Deal with it. Let's move on to the reviews! As always, I have selected the five best reviewers since the last update and am responding to them here. Not in any particular order...

To **meteoricshipyards: **Typically, I prefer to respond to reviews that are more in-depth than yours, but you brought up something interesting. The phenomenon Harry experienced in Chapter One is referenced twice in this chapter...the first should be obvious, and figuring out the second will give you a large hint as to what Harry is doing in RotA.

To **Stick97: **Thank you. I could not agree with you more about the horrendous disservice JKR did to Hermione in the final two books. Thankfully, she has been gloriously reimagined in the movies...even if they have to keep her with Ron. Sigh. Lifetilt. Your observations about where I am taking Hermione in this fic are astute...though I don't think I've shown it much yet in this story, Hermione is my favorite character in the Harry Potter universe and I plan on having a great deal of fun with her before I'm done.

To **1Azrael1:** I've sort of alluded to this a couple times throughout the story, particularly in this chapter, but I have a theory for why wizards don't simply jack Muggle things all the time. Its my belief that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement must conduct its own investigation of all major thefts in the Muggle world and somehow scan to see if any magic was used to assist or conduct the robbery...and they would then, theoretically at least, have some way of tracing the villains responsible. Furthermore, I think most wizards would probably consider themselves "above" robbing Muggles for their livelihood. That does not mean, however, that unscrupulous magical individuals could not make a fortune through dishonest means in the Muggle world. I believe I have alluded to this before (or simply said it out loud), but in the RotA universe, a great deal of the Black fortune that Harry inherited at the beginning came from liberal use of the Imperius curse against Muggles with whom the Blacks entered business dealings.

To **taxzombie: **All my readers should know by now that there is no easier way to find your way into this section than to praise my characterization of Voldemort. taxzombie is the latest beneficiary of this :)

To **YamiNoTomoyo:** Thanks so much for the review! Strangely, you were (I believe, terribly sorry if I missed someone) the only person to comment on the alibi! I thought for sure that would be more popular! Oh well. You'll notice that the description of the Golden Amphiptere of Thebes does not match up precisely with the traditional description of an amphiptere. As you'll discover, it was the intent of the creator of the pendant that it not be exactly like the real thing. Unfortunately for your hopes that Harry will gain an amphiptere as a familiar, though this was something I planned on in the very early days of planning for this fic, it's not gonna happen. You may be pleased by some of Harry's other animal acquaintances, however :D. As usual, I've left hints.

**FAQs**

**-Why does your German suck so bad? Did you use some shitty online translator?** OK OK OK, you got me. I took German in 8th, 9th and 11th grades, but by the time I wrote the german passage earlier in the story I was definitely rusty...and that doesn't begin to scratch how rusty I am now. Terribly sorry to those of you who have commented on this. Out of curiosity, would anyone be willing to serve as a German translator for me? I don't really think I'll need to use it again, but it would be nice to know if someone was willing to do it.

**-Why did you give Harry eleventy bajillion Galleons? Why must authors always use this crutch?** I can't speak for other authors, but I am not using Harry's inheritance as a crutch...it has genuine importance to both the plot of RotA and the deeper themes I'm attempting to explore in RotA. You'll notice that there is no scene in RotA where I describe in rhapsodic detail a long shopping trip Harry takes through Diagon Alley or to Harrod's or something similar.

**-Why don't you post more often?** In truth, I'm a pretty busy guy and I just can't give fan fiction the level of attention I once was able to. I'm a junior at a fine college, I'm working both a paid retail job and an unpaid internship, I have a girlfriend I've been dating for 3 years. Much of the free time I do have is consumed by online poker, which, considering that I made more through it than through my "real jobs" last year, could very easily be considered a third job. This is not to say that I don't love all of you or that I don't care about the story, because I do very much. It's just that I have many more things competing for my time now than I did when I began this project in high school. However, as I said at the top, my only New Year's Resolution this year was to update this fic at least every two months this year. I hope to keep that resolution.

As always, please review! And once more, follow me at /supremostories for the latest RotA news and updates.


	11. What Do You Think, Potter?

**Author's Notes:** WELP looks like my goal of a chapter every two months isn't going so hot. Sorry about that. As always though, you can follow me on twitter for the latest updates/excuses about why I'm taking so long with the next update. Supremostories is the twitter name, follow me!

Also, don't forget to leave me a review! I'm so much more motivated to write when I get bunches of those, so please keep 'em coming!

Lastly, this story crossed a quarter-million (that's 250,000 fulks) hits all time between the last chapter and this one. I just want to thank everyone so so much for sticking with me through the years, the response has frankly been beyond my wildest dreams when I started.

Disclaimer: I'm just not JKR, m'kay? She's the one that owns all this.

* * *

Chapter Ten: What Do You Think, Potter?

There was something very unnerving about standing alone in the Dark Lord's throne room, Bellatrix Lestrange thought. She whipped her head around to look behind her to make _certain_ there was no one else in the room. Of course, there was not. Bellatrix shook herself mentally for her stupidity; this was at least the fourth time she had pulled that move.

Bellatrix turned her attention to the obsidian throne in the middle of the room. It was a masterpiece, a looming monument to the Dark. Bellatrix felt her skin tingle as she focused in on it and thought of its future; how from this very seat, her master would one day rule all Europe. She smiled and licked the points of her canines, relishing her fantasy, overcome by her desire to serve as her master's right hand until the end of her days. _But of course, there won't _be _an end of days for me_, thought Bellatrix. _Surely it is only a matter of time before my master shares the secrets of immortality_. Her smile grew wider.

At long last, Bellatrix heard the click of the secret door in the Malfoy drawing room floor and saw the bottom half of her lord come gliding down the stairs into the throne room. The half-mad witch began to lower herself into the typical bow when something in her peripheral vision stopped her dead cold. A second figure was descending the stairs with her master; and here, "with" was the key preposition: the figure was not trailing behind the Dark Lord as was customary, bur rather walked _alongside_ the Dark Lord. In all her years of service, Bellatrix could not remember a single time anyone had been granted this honor. So great was her shock that Bellatrix nearly didn't assume the traditional bow quickly enough, a nearly unforgivable sin in Lord Voldemort's ranks.

"Rise, Bella," intoned Voldemort. The Dark Lord's tone was threatening, but on the inside he was elated; he had just won a 100 Galleon bet with Harry about whether or not Bella would be able recover her senses quickly enough to bow before the pair got down the stairs.

Bellatrix rose as her Lord commanded and for the first time got a full look at his…companion? What a strange word to use in reference to the Dark Lord. The newcomer was of average height and clad in dark robes bearing a strange insignia: like the Dark Mark it featured a snake and a skull, but instead of growing out of the skull's jaw like a tongue, the snake on this mark – a cobra – wrapped around the skull's forehead and then rose from behind the parietal bone, flaring its hood and baring its fangs. A simple gold crown adorned the top of the cobra's head. The man's hood was raised and cast a pitch-black shadow that completely obscured his face, except for two sickly green triangular slits, which glowed malevolently from the depths of the hood, where Bellatrix supposed his real eyes must be. The effect was clearly magical in origin, but that knowledge did nothing to dispel the unsettled feeling Bellatrix got from looking at the man…there was just something _wrong_ about this character, whoever he was. Bellatrix chose instead to fix her old master with a quizzical look. Normally, she wouldn't have dared to look at him this way, but this was clearly not a normal meeting.

"My Lord," said Bellatrix with as much reverence as she could muster, given the circumstances. "May I ask who your…_guest_ is?"

"You may," the Dark Lord allowed. "This is…" and here Voldemort paused, glancing briefly in Harry's direction. For all the planning the two had done in the three days since Harry had revealed the prophecy to him, they had somehow overlooked the issue of what the Death Eaters would call the boy. Voldemort felt a message come through the connection he shared with Harry and agreed with the teen's assessment.

"This is your new master," Voldemort concluded. "As far as you are concerned, he is my equal. You will obey and serve him without question, as you would me."

"My new master," Bellatrix protested, her voice approaching a wail. "But my Lord, I swore an oath to _you_, not _this_ person! He does not even bear the Dark Mark!"

Voldemort gazed impassively at Bellatrix for the barest of seconds and then nodded discreetly at Harry. In the blink of an eye, the disguised teen's want was in his hand and two electric blue bolts were hurtling at Bellatrix' knees. The veteran Death Eater was caught too off-guard to dodge and the curses struck true, pulverizing all the bone and connective tissue in her knees. In the Muggle world, this injury would leave her crippled for life; as it was, it would merely leave her immobilized and in excruciating pain until Voldemort saw fit to have his house-elves heal her.

"All attempts at insubordination will be treated _most_ harshly," said Harry over the screams of the fallen woman. He cast a temporary pain relief charm so that Bellatrix could regain enough of her mental faculties to comprehend him.

"You will be charged primarily with instructing two of my lieutenants in stealth, tracking, and deception." At this, Harry motioned with his hand and two figures materialized behind him. They were clad in the same dark robes from which they peered out with the same glowing green eyes. They were only distinguishable from Harry by the color of the crowns on the heads of the cobras on the insignia; theirs were silver rather than gold.

Harry waited for some sort of acknowledgment of her orders from Bellatrix but received none. Quickly growing impatient with the woman, Harry canceled his pain relief charm and allowed Bellatrix to scream herself hoarse before reapplying it.

"Do you understand, _Bella_?" Harry asked, sneering the familiar form of her name with as much contempt as he could muster, and Bellatrix noticed for the first time the voice of her tormentor: high-pitched, cold and cruel, very nearly the same as the Dark Lord's.

"I understand," said Bellatrix, though she did not bother to hide the derision in her voice. This was a mistake.

"I understand, _what?_" thundered Harry, though the charm disguising his voice altered it into a harsh, dangerous whisper. When Bellatrix did not answer, Harry lashed out; another blue bolt shot from Harry's wand and struck the wicked witch directly in the chest, splitting her sternum in two.

"I understand, Master!" Bellatrix screamed out in panic, feeling her bones grind together and laboring to keep breathing as she felt her chest cavity slowly collapse.

Harry made no motion to aid Bellatrix and neither did Voldemort. Both knew that if their partnership was to work, Harry had to establish complete dominance over Bellatrix. He had to break the woman here and now or he could not hope to hold sway over the other Death Eaters.

Harry conjured a small boulder and levitated it to a spot ten feet above the witch's head. "We aren't going to have problems, are we Bella?" he asked, breathing as much false innocence as he could into his hiss of a voice. "We aren't going to need to find a new teacher for my lieutenants, are we?"

"N-no, Master!" choked out Bellatrix, for whom breathing was now getting quite difficult.

"Are you suuuuuure?" Harry's voice came as close to a sadistic coo as the charm would allow. Before Bellatrix could respond, Harry repositioned the boulder to be over Bellatrix' right ankle and dropped it, allowing himself to wince at the crunch it made and the witch's subsequent tortured, somewhat constricted screams.

"Yes I'm sure, Master!" Bellatrix cried. She had known terrible pain from Voldemort's wand before, but the terror of a slow, horrible death at the hands of this stranger was wreaking havoc on her psyche in ways Voldemort's punishments never had.

Harry levitated the boulder again and positioned it once more over Bellatrix' head, this time over twenty feet in the air. "That is good," he purred dangerously. "I am glad to leave the training of my lieutenants in your capable hands.

"But know this, Bella. I am holding _you_ accountable for how well they learn. Responsibility for any failures they might have will fall," and here Harry paused and released the boulder, stopping its fall mere inches above Bellatrix' head, "onto you."

Bellatrix gulped and simply nodded her head as fervently as she could; she desired nothing more than to get away from her mysterious tormentor. "I won't let you down, Master," she croaked.

Voldemort sensed that Bellatrix had been thoroughly conquered. "Elf!" he called, and his personal house elf, Jiff, appeared instantly. "Take Bellatrix away and mend her. Go see Snape too, I imagine you'll be needing some of his stores of Skelegrow." The elf nodded and a second later, disappeared along with Bellatrix' broken frame.

As soon as they were gone, Voldemort turned to Harry. "I must say, you have an interesting style, Potter. Why didn't you just Cruciate her?"

"I'm not skilled enough with that," Harry said, canceling the various glamour charms on his robes and person and lowering his hood. "I didn't want to risk permanently damaging her."

Voldemort smirked.

"But in any event, I'm sure she's been conditioned to the Cruciatus curse," said Harry, shooting a warning glare at Voldemort as he did so. "Given that, I think my method was more effective."

"Fair enough," said Voldemort, who in truth had been impressed with the ruthlessness and simplicity of Harry's attack. "This time again tomorrow?"

"Indeed," said Harry, grinning at the older wizard. He turned to Blaise and Hermione, who for some reason had not undone their glamours. "Ladies," he said, and with the activation of a Portkey, they were all gone.

* * *

"Pretty sickening, Harry," said Blaise. "I wish you wouldn't do that again."

"She'll be fine."

Blaise laughed. "No, I wasn't talking about Bellatrix, Merlin knows that bitch deserves everything she got and more. I meant this quiche, it's simply dreadful cold. Maybe remember to leave a warming charm next time?"

"Take your complaints up with Tonks, she's the one who's supposed to be in charge of domestic stuff while we're out," Harry said with mock irritation, gesturing across the kitchen table to the empty seat at Blaise's left, where Tonks normally sat. "Where is she anyway?"

"Probably at the Atoll putting finishing touches on the huts."

"Right."

Silence fell over the group. After a few minutes of quiet broken only by the scrape of forks on plates, Hermione spoke up.

"He's bloody scary," she said in an uncharacteristically small voice.

"The stuff of nightmares," agreed Blaise. "You sort of expect that the stories are all overblown, you know? You think that there's no way anyone could be _that_ monstrous, no way he could _actually_ have red eyes and a face like a snake, but he _does_. Thank Merlin we had those glamours on, knowing he couldn't see me was the only thing keeping me sane."

"Here's the thing about Voldemort," said Harry. "You have to remember that underneath it all, he's still basically the same as anyone else. I know, I know," he said, holding up his hands to forestall the girls' protests. "He doesn't look human, and he's certainly committed countless inhuman crimes. But you know what we talked about most often the past three days?"

"His schemes to take over the world?" guessed Blaise.

Harry gave a small laugh. "No. We talked about Quidditch."

"Quidditch?"

"Yeah, Quidditch. He's a Tornadoes fan."

"You're joking," breathed Hermione.

"I'm not. He's actually quite knowledgeable. You ever wonder why he's never attacked a Quidditch match, even though that's an amazingly obvious target? He knows that if he did, they'd suspend the league indefinitely and he'd have to start following the Continental leagues and, '_Doubt I want to spend my day watching those duffers_,'" Harry hissed in a perfect imitation of the Dark Lord.

Blaise gave a brief snort of laughter. "What does he think about you, then?"

"He said something about wanting to _Imperius_ the Tornadoes' general manager to make sure they signed me…"

"Do you think he will," asked Hermione.

Harry just shrugged. There was another long silence.

"Well anyways," said Blaise, as she finished her quiche. "Let's get a move on shall we? I know that I'd like to see this Atoll before the others come tomorrow morning."

"Alright," said Harry. He bellowed for Kreacher and the house elf appeared with a crack, once again without the usual aggressive muttering. Harry commanded the elf to take the group to Alphard's Atoll and with a snap of Kreacher's fingers, the three were off.

Harry found himself on the most idyllic beach imaginable. The pure white sand stretched across the edge of the island, 30 yards wide, and felt cool on his feet. The water was a light blue that blended almost perfectly with the sky above, so well that it was difficult to make out the horizon. The interior side of the beach was lined with palm trees: squat, pineapple-like royals; tall, skinny queens; and bunches of short, skinny, yellow butterfly palms, with trunks perfectly spaced for a hammock. Beyond the trees was a dense, emerald green forest, teeming with all manner of tropical plants. A sandy path cut through the forest, beside which a painted wooden sign bore the legend, "Welcome to Alphard's Atoll."

Blaise and Hermione squealed with delight, and made motions to suggest they were about to collapse with pleasure. Kreacher started to cry, bemoaning his existence and pleading with long-dead Black family members to forgive him for befouling this paradise with half-bloods and other nasty adjectives for Harry's company. For his part, Harry was floored, but kept enough wits about him to steer his friends and elf down the path. They walked through the jungle for five minutes, the girls cooing with joy at every flower they passed and Harry gazing curiously at a monkey that had taken to following them. Eventually the path opened out into a sandy clearing, where a gorgeous white villa stood, surrounded by paths that led elsewhere in the forest.

Harry let out a low whistle. "Yeah, this'll do," he said, transfixed by the sight of his new home.

"Business, Harry," said Blaise reprovingly, though she too was gazing in awe at beautiful villa.

"Yes, we've got to find Tonks and then go collect the others," said Hermione absently.

"You thought she was at the huts, right Blaise," Harry asked, still unable to tear his eyes away.

"Yeah, they're over that way I think," she replied, pointing to nowhere in particular.

"We should go then."

"Yeah."

No one moved.

"Oh, you lot are too funny," called Tonks, seemingly from a fair distance away. Harry looked over and saw the pink-haired Auror strolling up a path to the right of the villa. "Close your mouths and stanch your drooling, would you please? Wouldn't want to foul up Harry's beach."

"How'd you know we were here," asked Harry, recovering himself and walking over to meet Tonks halfway. Blaise and Hermione reluctantly followed.

"Set up a quick proximity ward on the beach to let me know when anyone arrived," said Tonks. "Have I not taught you to do that yet? Has Moody not? Has _He_ not?"

Harry shook his head.

"You must remind me to, Harry. It's very standard operating procedure to set up a proximity ward before beginning a mission of any sort, it'll allow you to know instantly if anyone else arrives on the scene. Whether its reinforcements for your side or theirs, or if it's just innocent bystanders, its invaluable information."

Harry nodded, instantly seeing the utility of such a spell.

"But we should go, yeah? Time to collect everyone," said Tonks, returning to the business at hand. "You'll wait here?"

Harry nodded again and watched as Blaise and Hermione each grabbed hold of one of Tonks' arms. A brief fantasy flicked across Harry's mind before Tonks Apparated the group away. Harry smirked to himself, walked back down to the beach and conjured a hammock to wait for the first of his new followers to arrive.

* * *

"Oh, I can't believe it!" raged Bellatrix from her bed. The physical pain from that morning's torture session had been quelled by Snape's excellent potion, but the psychological wounds were fresh as ever.

"Nearly 30 years of dedicated service!" she wailed at the Potions Master, who was standing at a counter to the left of her bed, putting the finishing touches of a second dose for her. "And how does he repay me? By making some anonymous bit of _scum_ second-in-command? By having me tortured? What a crock of bullshit!"

"You're coming close to treason, Bella," Snape reminded the dark witch reflexively as he approached her bedside. Upon actually registering what Bellatrix had said, however, he stopped mid-stride and fixed the witch with a hard look.

"You mean to say that the Dark Lord didn't do this to you," he asked slowly.

"No! My – or I suppose our – _new _Master did, haven't you been listening?"

"Truthfully? No, I was just letting you rant," Snape smirked, handing her a goblet of potion. "Tell me about our new Master."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry smiled as he saw Katie Bell stumble into existence at the waterline and shriek as a small wave collided with the back of her calves.

"Over here," he called, getting up from the hammock. Katie looked up and smiled, casting a quick drying charm on herself as she jogged over to meet him.

"Oh, Harry this place is wonderful!" she exclaimed, giving her former teammate a hug as she arrived at his side and looking at the scenery around her. "It's really all yours?"

"All mine," he confirmed. "Shall we get you settled in, then? We've got a bunch of people coming in pretty soon."

Harry led her back up the path through the forest and began filling her in. "So, this is where you'll be staying for the rest of the month until Hogwarts starts up again. Aside from you and me, there will be eleven others living on the Atoll."

"Anyone I don't know," Katie inquired.

Harry thought for a moment. "I suppose you haven't ever met Auror Tonks, have you?"

"No," said Katie, trailing off slyly, and Harry thought he knew what was coming. "The name sounds familiar though…has she ever been in the paper?"

"Har har," Harry said, rolling his eyes as Katie smirked at his discomfort, "The other you might not have met before is a Slytherin girl from my year named Blaise Zabini. Everyone else was in the D.A."

"Yeah, I've seen her around the castle a couple times. And perhaps on one or two _other_ occasions." Katie smirked again. "How are things going with her then? She's a bloody fine catch."

"Wh-" Harry started, but caught himself. He had nearly forgotten about the show he and Blaise had put on in Diagon Alley. "Er, it's going brilliantly," he amended. "Blaise is a very nice girl and, well, we're having a lot of fun."

"Oh I'll _bet_ you are."

"Anyhow," he began again with an edge to his voice, "I, along with Blaise, Tonks and Hermione will be living in the main villa, which we'll come upon in a minute or two."

"Kinky, Harry. I mean, I'd heard gossip about Blaise around the castle, but I had _no idea_ she'd be up for –"

" –Stuff it," Harry interjected.

"Thanks, but it sounds like you do enough for the both of us," returned Katie without missing a beat.

Harry sighed and dropped the issue as they entered the sandy clearing where the villa stood. It was his turn to smirk as Katie's jaw went slack at the sight of it.

"So yeah, this is the villa where the four of us will be," Harry said with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

"Bloody hell, Harry! Nice digs!"

"Yeah its OK," he said, grabbing Katie's arm and pulling her along. "Come on then, your place is this way."

Harry led Katie around the clearing to the right side of the villa, where another sandy path led off into the jungle. It was a brief walk this time before they reached another white sand beach, identical to the first one except for a somewhat long, light brown bridge that led to another shore Harry could make out in the distance. As they walked across the bridge, Harry caught something in his peripheral vision and turned to look just in time to see the tip of a massive blue-green scaly tail flash out of and back into the water. _They weren't kidding about the Sea Serpents_, he thought.

As they came further across the bridge, Harry began to make out the guest huts. There were 50 of them, identical light brown bungalows raised on stilts. Each had a wide, generous porch with an assortment of lounge chairs and wide, panoramic widows that wrapped around both side corners and exposed a bright living room.

"So you'll be living in one of these," said Harry, grinning at Katie. His former teammate had once again gone slack at the jaw. "Go ahead and pick whichever one you like best and then you can just hang out and do whatever you want. The others will be trickling in one or two at a time for the next few hours, so it would be a big help to me if you could show people back to here if I'm away with someone else when they arrive, but if you don't want to do that there's a map of the Atoll and all of its amenities in your hut. The only thing I'd ask you to leave alone for now is the dueling simulator; I'll want to show that to everyone at once. Also, there's a meeting for everyone in the villa's dining hall at 7:00, so don't forget to be there."

Harry left Katie nodding mutely on the beach and headed back to the main island, where he was sure at least two more new arrivals were waiting for him. _One down, eight to go_. This was shaping up to be a long day.

_

* * *

_

"Welcome everyone," Harry said. It was seven o'clock and, as promised, all of Harry's followers were arranged around the table in the cream-white dining room of his villa. Until now, the crowd had been buzzing excitedly about their first day in Harry's tropical paradise: the Quidditch pitch, the beaches, the extensive game room in the villa, the lush paths through the forest teeming with exotic animals. But at the first sound of Harry's voice, the crowd had gone instantly silent and Harry was once again stunned by his ability to command the attention of a crowd. A comparison of himself to Professor Snape came unbidden into his mind, but Harry quickly banished the thought. Classrooms quieted for Snape out of simple fear for the bat-like man; Harry was determined to earn respect.

"I hope you all are having a good first day here," Harry continued, somewhat nervously. A general murmur of agreement worked its way through the group. "This Atoll is a truly remarkable place, and I'm so glad that I can share it with you all.

"But now, I'm afraid, it is time to get down to business. Hermione, has everyone here already made the Unbreakable Vow?"

"Yes, they've all sworn to not reveal the existence of this island or anything you discuss here tonight."

"Brilliant," Harry said. "Well then, I've got sort of a speech to give to you all, so if you'll bear with me..." Harry trailed off, unfurling a folded sheet of parchment from pocket of his shorts and began to read from it.

"You are all here because I am looking to create my own front in this war against Voldemort. I am looking to the lot of you to be the first on my side. I have asked all of you here because I have respect for your individual skills and potential to become expert witches and wizards and because I have confidence in your personal affection for and loyalty to me. I would be deeply honored and grateful if each and every one of you would join me.

"But before I can ask you to make that commitment, I feel I have an obligation to make you aware of the facts to the greatest extent possible, so that you may make an informed decision. If after hearing what I have to say, you do not wish to join with me, I will not hold it against you."

Harry looked up from the parchment at this point and eyed the crowd. "I really mean that," he said. "If you decide you want to back out tonight there will be no hard feelings or repercussions of any kind. Joining me will be a life-altering decision, and if you have any doubts that can't be resoled tonight, you shouldn't stay." He looked around the table to see that everyone understood, then returned to his speech.

"I'm sure that many of you already suspect that one way or another, I will be an essential player in the war against Voldemort. I can tell you now that your suspicions are well-founded. Seventeen years ago, a prophecy was made that states that if Voldemort is to be defeated, I must be the one to kill him. The prophecy also states that if I succeed in killing Voldemort, I will rule the wizarding world for some unspecified period of time - I may have control for just an hour or for the rest of my life, or for any amount of time in between."

Harry paused for a moment to allow this information to sink in before resuming. "Headmaster Dumbledore is aware of this prophecy. However, he has intentionally attempted to hide its existence from me. He believes that if I knowingly fulfill the prophecy and defeat Voldemort, I will inevitably use the power I attain to rule as the first truly successful Dark Lord. I am certain that if I do defeat Voldemort, Dumbledore will try to kill me himself in an attempt to preempt what he sees as my inevitable reign of terror.

"Obviously, I cannot allow that. I believe that the prophecy does not necessarily condemn me to be a Dark Lord, and that with proper preparation and training, I can defeat Voldemort and retain my humanity. I have already set into motion a plan to kill Voldemort and if it is successful, Voldemort will be dead within seven months."

An excited bit of chattering swept through the crowd at this. Harry paused too let the commotion die down before continuing.

"I believe that the prophecy presents me with an unprecedented opportunity to reform the wizarding world. We all know about the various injustices of this society: institutionalized discrimination against Muggle-borns and, to some lesser extent, half-bloods; the subjugation of part-humans and other sentient magical species; the exploitation and persecution of Muggles; our fundamentally undemocratic system of government; the routine suppression of essential liberties and government control of the press. Ours is among the last magical governments in the world that still adheres to these antiquated, immoral practices. If we were Muggles, the Americans would have invaded us long ago and forced us to change our ways. But we're not Muggles, so change for us must come from within.

"So this is what I ask of you. I'll need your help to defeat Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and if Dumbledore cannot be made to see reason, I'll need your help to defend myself against him and the Order of the Phoenix, the secret group he controls. But above all, I need your help over the next seven months to smooth the way for my transition to power. I cannot say that our methods will be strictly legal; we have members of the Wizengamot and ministers of government to coerce and remove. We may even be forced to kidnap or kill people, though I desperately hope it does not come to that. We _will_ be in the business of killing Death Eaters.

"If you choose to join me, you will spend the next month before school living here, learning advanced techniques in dueling, stealth and tracking, interrogation, and a number of other pertinent areas of magic from Auror Tonks, Hermione, Blaise, and myself along with a couple other older members of the Order of the Phoenix I've managed to bring over to my side. We may begin running missions this month, but I sort of doubt it. I will not send you out into the field until I'm satisfied that you're adequately prepared."

Harry looked up from his parchment once more and refolded it. "So that's basically it," he said. "I really desperately would like all of you to join me, but again I'd completely understand if any of you wouldn't want to. Does anyone have any questions?"

Silence reigned for a moment as everyone collected their thoughts. Finally, Angelina spoke up. "You talked about what will be going on for the next month, but what will happen once Hogwarts starts up again?"

"That's a good question," Harry said. "It's my understanding that you and Alicia don't have jobs yet, correct?"

Both graduated Chasers nodded their heads, with Alicia muttering, "_bloody Voldemort ruining the economy_," under her breath.

"Then you're both welcome to stay here and continue to train directly under me," said Harry. "Fred and George will go back to their shop – it would just be too conspicuous if they left that store of theirs for good – but they'll come by for continued training hopefully a couple times a week."

"And the rest of us," asked Ernie Macmillan. "What will we do?"

Harry smiled as he answered, pleased that Ernie had chosen to use "will" rather than "would" in that sentence. "You will train at Hogwarts under Hermione and Blaise. Hopefully as far as Dumbledore will know, you lot are merely continuing the DA."

"What qualifies Blaise and Hermione to teach us this stuff," asked Dean. "No offense," he added hastily, "but I didn't know they were experts in advanced dueling or anything of the like."

"None taken, that's definitely fair to ask," said Blaise. "Hermione and I – as well as Harry, for that matter – have recently begun tutelage under some very powerful and knowledgeable wizards. We'll be –"

"Unspeakables?" interjected Neville. "I know your dad's one."

Everyone gaped at Neville. "How…" Blaise began, but Harry cut her off.

"We really can't say," he said, winking for effect. He had no idea how Neville knew about Blaise' father, but his outburst had worked perfectly in their favor.

"I'm sorry," said Neville, who actually sounded more excited than he did contrite. "I saw you with Harry in the paper and started ranting about how evil Slytherins are but Gran told me your family wasn't all bad, she said our parents used to work together before, well…" he trailed off suddenly, sobering at the memory of his parents.

"I'm sorry," he said, sincerely this time. "I probably shouldn't have said anything. I just get excited sometimes."

"It's OK, Neville," said Harry. "Just be more careful in the future, yeah?"

Neville nodded and there was another moment of silence. This time, it was Alicia who broke through. "Can you tell us the prophecy, Harry? Word for word? I'd like to be able to make my own judgment if you're fated to evil or not…"

Harry shook his head sadly. "Maybe one day," he said. "But both Voldemort and some people who work for him can break into minds, and it would be a disaster if he found out about the prophecy. I've told you about it in general terms because you have to be able to make an informed decision, but I just can't risk him knowing the exact text. I understand if this is a dealbreaker."

Alicia quickly shook her head. "No, I understand," she said. Nobody spoke again for s long time.

"Is that it then," asked Harry. "No more questions?"

"I've heard everything I need to and I've made up me mind," said Seamus. "You say you're going to defeat You-Know-Who, then I want to do everything I can to help you kill the bastard. You say you're gonna change the world, then I want to help you do that too. Mum's told me all the jobs I can never have on account of me dad. It ain't right. I said it before and I'll say it again, I'm with ya 'til the end, Harry."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry and with a smile, he nodded to Hermione.

The bushy-haired witch produced a parchment bearing the signatures of herself, Blaise and Tonks and handed it and a quill to Seamus. "This is a magically binding oath of loyalty to Harry. If you sign it and betray us, the consequences will be much worse than just some pimples on your forehead."

Unperturbed, Seamus slapped the parchment on the dining table and quickly signed his name. "Done and done," he said.

Within five minutes, everyone at the table had signed. Harry thanked them all profusely and called for Kreacher to bring them dinner. After the meal, Harry and the rest headed out into the rest of the Atoll to truly enjoy it for the last time before training began.

Several hours of drunk Quidditch and other reckless merrymaking later, Harry retired to the massive master suite of the villa. He parted the white curtains of his large four-poster bed collapsed onto its generous, plush mattress. Struck by sudden inspiration, he reached into the breast pocket of his tropical pink silk shirt. A stupid, sloppy grin spread out over his face as he read its contents

_Upon my life and magic, I do solemnly pledge my loyalty to Lord Harry James Black-Potter. I swear, upon my life and magic, to follow his command, to keep his secrets, and to support him to the best of my ability in his fight against Lord Voldemort. I pledge this loyalty of my own free will and volition, in full knowledge of the risks and consequences of my pledge. So mote it be._

_Hermione Granger_

_Blaise Zabini_

_Nymphadora Tonks_

_Seamus Finnegan_

_Dean Thomas_

_Katie Bell_

_Fred Weasley_

_George Weasley_

_Angelina Johnson_

_Alicia Spinnet_

_Ernie Macmillan_

_Neville Longbottom_

It might just have been the firewhiskey, but Harry's heart swelled as he read the list. He kept reading the names over and over again; he couldn't put the parchment down. _Twelve people, twelve people who care enough to pledge their lives to me_. Harry For the first time in his life, Harry felt there were people that truly had his back through thick and thin. _A family_, he thought, and his grin grew even wider.

Harry felt a prickling on the side of his neck indicating that he was no longer alone. He turned to look and saw Blaise standing off to the side of the bed. How she had entered the room without him noticing he did not know.

"Blaise," he slurred in surprise, "what're you doin here?"

"Maintaining appearances," she said, smiling beautifully. "They all think we're together, remember?"

"Right," he said. "Well where will you sleep then? There's only one bed in here?" Harry ended the sentence as a question as he leaned up to ensure that there was indeed only one bed, but quickly lay back down as the sudden movement caused his head to ache and his vision to swim.

Blaise giggled and took a step closer to the bed. "Oh, I don't know," she said slowly. "I did have one idea…"

"Wha's zat?"

"You know that was quite a speech you gave today," she said with a low voice.

"I'd hope you'd think so, seeing as how you wrote it," said Harry, giggling, not noticing the sudden shift in topic.

Blaise ignored him at took another step towards the bed. "You know you're quite sexy when you take charge like that," she nearly purred.

Harry carefully leaned his head up at this and could not help but look up and down her body, suddenly completely clear-headed. He relished the tone of her legs as the disappeared into her rather short skirt, the slight curve of her hips and the hints of the sides of her breasts revealed by her blouse. He looked back into her eyes, which had gone dark and heavily lidded, and gulped.

"Is that so," he whispered, not trusting his full voice.

Blaise closed the distance between them and leaned over him, her face hovering inches above his. "What do you think, Potter?"

Harry couldn't think. He didn't for the rest of the night. And when he finally passed out early the next morning, his mind could only focus on one word: _Bliss._

_

* * *

_

Severus Snape was running through the darkened halls of Hogwarts castle. He couldn't remember ever moving so quickly in his life. Nothing would stand in his way – not Peeves, whom he Banished to the dungeons; not Mrs. Norris, whom he kicked when she hissed disapprovingly at him; not even Argus Filch himself, who lay under a Full-Body Bind in Snape's wake. He shouted the password at the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's office and took the spiral staircase three steps at a time before bursting through Dumbledore's door.

"Ah, Severus. How can I help you," asked Dumbledore serenely.

"The Dark Lord has named a new second-in-command," Snape wheezed, not bothering to catch his breath. "And I think it's Potter."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Things are getting cooking! In my last author's note I said that I'd probably clear up a lot of ambiguous stuff from the last chapter in this chapter. But then I decided not to, because frankly it's more fun that way. Also, I believe this is my longest chapter already even without those bits, sooo yeah.

-Speaking of fun, H/Fem!Blaise is heaps of fun, am I right? Dunno _exactly_ how long I'll keep that going for, but I feel comfortable telling you that this relationship will not last through the end of the fic. It may even end tragically...we'll see :)

On to the reviews! As usual, I have selected the best reviewers from the last chapter and am responding to them here in an effort to make the lot of you leave longer/more thoughtful reviews in hopes of seeing your name published. This time, there were a lot of "great chapter, please update soon"-type reviews, which obviously I love and make me smile, but they don't really give me anything to talk about in here lol. So I've only keyed on three reviews individually for this chapter instead of my normal five. In no particular order...

To **demonicnargles: **Well, first and foremost, I needed to make the Blacks rich enough that they own an Atoll off Tunisia, lol. Like I say in my profile, Alphard's Atoll is stolen from a similar locale that **Lady Alchymia** used in _Harry Potter and the Emerald Tablet_. I simply love it...it's a safe place outside the country that explains where precisely Sirius was sending tropical birds from in _Goblet of Fire_, and as you'll see, it will play a central role in RotA, FAR beyond its mere present status as a fun place for Harry to train up the rest of his crew. But Harry will be putting his money to work in other ways...you'll see. I'm glad you like Fem!Blaise and my Voldemort...like I've said before, my Voldemort is truly the thing I'm most proud of in this fic. Its a shame we didn't get much of him this chapter :( Thanks for the review!

To **YamiNoTomoyo: **I don't have any particular plans for Hedwig in this story. Its a shame because a number of my favorite fics have absolutely brilliant characterizations of her, but I feel like I've already got so many strings of characters to bring together, I don't really want to have to deal with another one. Plus I feel like I'd just genuinely be ripping off other authors I love if I did use Hedwig a lot. In case you haven't read it, _Harry Potter and the Summer of Change_ by **lorddwar** has a brilliant Hedwig.

(separating this out into its own paragraph so more people will see) Voldemort absolutely _does_ double-check Harry to confirm the prophecy, although that part obviously hasn't gone into the story yet. The three-day gap between the end of Chapter 9 and the beginning of this one is so key.

And actually I've never had a pumpkin-spice latte lol. My girlfriend swears by them though and it fit with the pumpkin-flavored-things obsession wizards in HP canon seem to have lol. Voldemort's love of lattes (and his love of sports, and his sleep schedule, and his fondness for prop betting, and just about everything that else that makes him unique lol) comes directly from my own personality. And you're welcome for the speedy (for you) update last time, sorry this one took 7 months lol.

To **lycus: **I'm glad you enjoyed the distinction there. One of the reasons killing those guards was so important was because the memory of how bad it felt will be part of what keeps (or attempts to keep) Harry human.

And lycus brings me to my last point. A few reviewers - namely **PerfesserN**, **the dragonBARD**, and **Fugatad** - expressed dismay that I had Harry kill the two security guards in the last chapter and PerfesserN even said that he'll no longer be reading RotA because of it. Obviously everyone is entitled to their opinion and I had a feeling going in that the last chapter might cost me some readers because of ts content. But I hope everyone else understands the theme I was exploring in that chapter and will continue to explore as RotA unfolds. RotA is a story about making the truly difficult choices, about sacrificing personal comfort and peace of mind for the sake of the larger good, about how close to the brink you can push yourself without falling off the cliff. The imagery in the last chapter surrounding the murder of the two guards is specifically designed to evoke the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, which in my mind are the epitome of such a truly agonizing choice. And I thought I did a good job of showing how much the murders affected Harry, regardless of how important they were. I'm not turning Harry into a monster, just into a realist who does what he has to.

I'd be lying if I said Harry (and I) didn't have a lot of fun torturing Bella tho. :) we both hate her.

That's all for this chapter, hope you'll all write nice reviews! Don't forget to follow me on twitter Supremostories and hopefully I'll get the next chappie out before May lol


	12. Alive

**Author's Notes:** This is both the longest chapter to date and the fastest I've turned around a new chapter since like the very beginning of this story lol. I think that means you can't be too mad at me, even if you think it sucks. Which I hope you don't. Because I don't think it does. Obviously.

Let's move on.

Also, RotA is now on approximately 950 "Favorite Story" lists, which makes me think we'll get to 1,000 in between this update and Chapter 12. Be the 1,000th person to Favorite RotA and get a sweet shoutout at the top of Chapter 12!

One last thing: I'm starting to get reaaallllllyyyyy excited for _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part One_. I'll be attending the very first showing at the BFI IMAX theater in London, so be jealous!

Please leave reviews! And don't forget to follow me on twitter, I'm Supremostories there.

Disclaimer: In the early 1990s, the owner of Harry Potter went to the Elephant House Cafe in Edinburgh to pen the first Harry Potter novels over several months and years. In the early 2010s, I went to the Elephant House Cafe in Edinburgh to eat a croissant with my girlfriend and drink my first Irn-Bru over the course of about a half-hour. Infer what you will.

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Chapter Eleven: Alive

_Previously on Harry Potter and the Rise of the Amphiptere_

_Severus Snape was running through the darkened halls of Hogwarts castle. He couldn't remember ever moving so quickly in his life. Nothing would stand in his way – not Peeves, whom he Banished to the dungeons; not Mrs. Norris, whom he kicked when she hissed disapprovingly at him; not even Argus Filch himself, who lay under a Full-Body Bind in Snape's wake. He shouted the password at the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's office and took the spiral staircase three steps at a time before bursting through Dumbledore's door._

_ "Ah, Severus. How can I help you," asked Dumbledore serenely._

_ "The Dark Lord has named a new second-in-command," Snape wheezed, not bothering to catch his breath. "And I think it's Potter."_

"Great Merlin, Severus have you inhaling potions fumes again," asked Dumbledore bemusedly, his trademark twinkle brightening his eyes.

"No I have not you nattering old fool," snapped Snape impatiently, injecting as much frost into his voice as he could muster while he still labored to restore his heart rate. "There is a new second-in-command and it is Potter, I'm sure of it!"

"But Severus, that's absurd. Voldemort wouldn't _have_ a second-in-command, it's just not in his nature. And Harry surely would not _be_ second-in-command even if Voldemort –"

"_ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO ME_," interjected Snape in full rage. "I have just _come_ from Malfoy Manor. I have just _treated_ the wounds of Bellatrix Lestrange who was just _tortured_ by _Voldemort's new second-in-command!_"

It was only at this point that Dumbledore quieted himself and allowed Snape to tell of what he had learned from Bellatrix.

"Surely you must be mistaken, though," said Dumbledore, shaking his head in disbelief. "It cannot possibly be Harry!"

"This cannot be mere coincidence, Dumbledore!" said Snape exasperatedly. Though it had taken him all day to come up with and accept this theory, he was beyond frustrated at Dumbledore's reticence to accept it. "A brand-new, never before even hinted-at second-in-command just days after Potter announces that he's dropping out of Hogwarts to play _Quidditch_, of all things? The second-in-command has two lieutenants who need training; Potter has Granger and Zabini, both of whom would need training. Potter _knows_ the prophecy…"

"Harry doesn't know the prophecy," said Dumbledore with confidence. Snape goggled at the Headmaster as though he were mad.

"Need I remind you that Potter is dating a _Zabini_?" Snape blurted incredulously. "When was the last time a Zabini patriarch missed the Gringott's Hunt? The sixteenth century? Did you not want to keep Harry from being in contact with the goblins for the _precise_ reason that you thought they would tell him? Potter _knows_, Zabini has _told him_. You of all people should know how hard it is to get Potter's trust these days…how else did she go from having no extracurricular contact with Potter at all to being his girlfriend in the space of half a summer?"

"But I mean, Ms. Zabini is a very attractive girl, isn't she," sputtered Dumbledore. He was grasping at straws and he knew it. But this was not at all what he had envisioned and his brain was reeling from the sudden paradigm shift. He had thought he could keep the boy weak and useless, thought he could limit his potential as a Death Eater and future Dark Lord and adversary. Of course it pained him that one day he would have to kill the boy, he had been very fond of all the Potters he'd ever encountered. But the prophecy was very clear. Harry would become a Death Eater, kill Voldemort and then attempt to take power for himself, which meant that it was inevitable that the boy would become a Dark Lord. No one could remain in as close contact with evil or use Unforgivable curses as often as Harry would have to and have their soul intact. By the time Harry killed Voldemort, he would be twisted and destroyed by Dark magic, unrecognizable as the sweet boy longing after his parents in the Mirror of Erised so long ago. If killing the _thing_ Harry would become was the price for ridding the world of Voldemort and preventing the rise of his successor, then Dumbledore would gladly pay it.

Snape saw acceptance working its way into Dumbledore's face and held the biting comment on the tip of his tongue. "The only thing I don't understand," he said, "is why Zabini would tell Potter, and why she would join the Dark Lord with him. The Zabinis have never supported a Dark Lord, they like those infernal goblins too much for that. It's the only thing that gives me pause about my theory, in truth."

"No, Ms. Zabini has never really run with Mr. Malfoy's crowd has she…perhaps Voldemort has finally gained leverage on Martin?" Dumbledore wondered aloud. "Or perhaps they have some foolish intention of spying on Voldemort or cutting a deal to protect their friends? As you well know Severus, people join the Dark Lord for any number of reasons."

Dumbledore sighed. "I don't think we can say it conclusively, but it certainly does seem that Harry has joined Voldemort. These are certainly most impressive coincidences if he has not." The aged Headmaster set his signature half-moon glasses down on his desk and rubbed his temples, wanting to be anywhere but where he was.

"What will you do?" asked Snape.

"For now? Nothing," replied Dumbledore wearily. "The prophecy has begun to be fulfilled. The end of the war has begun. We must now watch and wait until Harry decides to take Voldemort's place…I only pray that he realizes his ambitions quickly."

Dumbledore fell silent for several minutes, imagining how bad conditions might get before Harry was finally ready to kill Voldemort. _Greater and more terrible than ever he was,_ _indeed_. Finally, he looked up at Snape again and spoke.

"Perhaps we ought to have a word with Ms. Zabini and Ms. Granger when they return to Hogwarts, though. May I count on your support?"

A feral grin spread over Snape's face. "Always, Headmaster."

Harry awoke the next morning and instantly wished he hadn't. "Uggggghhhhh," he moaned as he pressed his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure some unknown force was exerting on his head. _I'm never drinking again_, he silently vowed as he surveyed the rest of his body. His legs were achy and tired for reasons he didn't understand and his stomach was doing back flips, though he supposed he _did_ know why that would be. Harry reached up to feel his hair, which was mercifully non-sticky. _No more accidents, then_.

He leaned back into his pillow and tried to get as comfortable as possible while the events of last night began to dribble their way back into his memory. _An excellent night_, Harry thought fondly as he recalled some of the more absurd antics from the night. Teenagers armed with basic knowledge of human transfiguration mixed very well with alcohol, from an entertainment perspective at least. Harry started to chuckle as he recalled an overgrown fairy that had once been Ernie Macmillan chasing Blaise up and down the beach, but stopped and clutched his head as it only caused his headache to worsen.

Blaise. _Blaise!_ A stupid grin broke out over Harry's face as he finally recalled just _what_ the two of them had done the previous night. He remembered everything: the searing intensity of that first kiss, the softness of her skin, the vaguely fruity smell of her hair, the way it _felt_ when first slid onto him…Harry shuddered with pleasure reliving the experience. This was definitely a memory for storage in a secure Penseive.

Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, Harry rolled over onto his right side to see if Blaise was still in his bed. Sure enough, there was Blaise, sleeping soundly on her back, a soft smile playing about her face. The Slytherin girl shifted in her sleep and in so doing revealed her naked breasts, which had been hidden under the sheet. Harry was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he too was naked and was momentarily embarrassed. But his desire quickly beat down his shyness and, for the first time without a healthy dose of liquid courage, Harry leaned over and kissed the girl.

Blaise was slow to respond but when she did, she came fully alive, drawing her arms up to capture Harry's torso and pull him fully onto her. Then, with strength and speed that would have surprised Harry had he not encountered it the previous night, Blaise flipped the two of them over on the bed so that she was now on top, straddling Harry's waist. She broke off the kiss and sat up on her knees, exposing her body fully to Harry. Harry smiled broadly up at her as she blinked the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. _She's simply beautiful_, he thought.

"Good morning, Harry," Blaise said, returning his smile. "You certainly are a frisky one today."

"Couldn't help myself," he replied. "You just looked too cute."

To Harry's horror, Blaise gasped and looked stricken. "Cute? _Cute? _What do you _mean_, 'I looked cute!'" she cried, rolling off of him and back onto the bed with her back to him.

"I – I – I," Harry sputtered, completely at a loss for words. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you don't like being called cute, I thought I was complimenting you," he blurted, rushing through his words. Harry rubbed Blaise's back in what he hoped was a comforting and apologetic way.

Slowly, Blaise turned around and fixed Harry with a hard glare. "_Cute_ is something you call your kid sister," she snarled. "_Cute_ is what you say when you see some withered old couple kissing on a bench in the park. How about calling me _beautiful_ or _gorgeous_ or _sexy_ or anything else more appropriate for the girl you've been shagging all night?"

Harry's eyes were wide, his mouth was gaping. This morning was not going at all as he had planned. "I'm so so sorry Blaise, please forgive me, you _are_ beautiful and gorgeous and sexy and everything else, really! Last night was amazing beyond belief and –"

The corners of Blaise's mouth twitched.

"What are you smirking about?" asked Harry, bewildered.

A soft, partially repressed snort passed through Blaise's nose and the corners of her mouth twitched violently as she struggled mightily against the smile trying to force its way onto her face.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," sighed Harry as Blaise could last no longer and broke out into peals of laughter. It was several minutes before she calmed down again.

"Oh, Harry you're just _too _easy," said Blaise, her voice still filled with mirth.

"Hmmph."

"But Harry," cooed Blaise, wiggling her way onto his chest and kissing him. "You're so _cute_ when you're flustered," she said with a snicker.

Harry merely pouted, liking the direction his mock-upset was taking things.

"Mmm, but Harry," said Blaise, her eyes going dark once more. Harry repressed a smile. "I don't want you to be upset. I want _this_," she purred, reaching down and taking a firm hold of his manhood.

It wound up being a very good morning after all.

"Who can tell me the main problem with the work you all did in the D.A. last year, as it relates to being in an actual fight with Death Eaters," asked Tonks. It was one o'clock in the afternoon and the residents of Alphard's Atoll – save Harry – were assembled in what Blaise called the "Jump-off Room" of the Combat Simulator. Unlike the architecture everywhere else on the Atoll, which was determinedly tropical, open and breezy, the Combat Simulator was a big, gray, rectangular concrete block that looked distinctly out of place amid the lush greenery of Harry's paradise.

Despite this drab countenance, however, the Simulator was nothing short of a miraculous feat of magical engineering. At the back end of the jump off room there was a series of three doors, each leading to a different area of the facility. On the left was the target range. Much like a traditional Muggle firing range, it was divided into individual stalls, from which a wizard would blast away at targets. Unlike a Muggle range, though, the caster could choose from among a seemingly limitless list of targets, from a standard target design of a bullseye and concentric rings to various dummies which could take on strikingly accurate likenesses of a wide variety of people and magical animals: Aurors, Hit Wizards, acromantulae, manticores, Death Eaters, even historical figures like Circe or Merlin himself. The range also had the ability to make these dummies moving targets that could dodge, dip, duck or dive to avoid the caster's spells.

The door on the right led to what Tonks called the Experimentation Room. Inside, seated in a chair, was an anatomically perfect replica of an adult human male – a particularly advanced sort of dummy called a golem. The golem's body perfectly mimicked all the processes of a normal wizard, even to the point that it had a magical core with which it could cast spells if the user of the room so ordered it. It was exactly like having a perfectly-Imperiused prisoner on which to test new spells and potions and study their effects, only without hassle of maintaining an Imperius curse or the moral problem of kidnapping people to serve such a purpose. If the golem 'died,' its body would linger in the room for a half hour, both to allow the user of the room to examine their work and to allow the room time to gather the magical energy necessary to produce another golem.

The true genius of the simulator, however, lay behind the middle door. Through here was the dueling chamber itself, a nearly sentient room surpassed only by the Room of Requirement and the Auror Training Grounds in its adaptability. It had taken over a decade and nearly half of Alphard Black's personal fortune to complete, but it had paid massive dividends. The dueling chamber, beyond anything else, was why the Black family and their close allies had produced so many outstanding fighters over the past century. The chamber could instantly "load" any of a limited number of dueling environments that ranged in size from a regulation dueling strip complete with stands to a perfect replication of Hogsmeade High Street. Given a couple of hours to prepare, the room could fill the map with golems similar to the one found in the Experimentation Room and have them fight for either side or simply be innocent bystanders. The chamber could also tweak the skill level of the golems on a progression from novice to Master either at random or according to the request of the chamber's user. But all of this was relatively standard: most of the wealthy pureblood families who tended to become embroiled in wars for or against Dark Lords had a room in their ancestral homes with similar capabilities. What truly set Alphard's dueling chamber apart – and accordingly, what accounted for over 75 percent of its cost – were the capabilities it had with a Pensieve. If one loaded a memory into the Pensieve at the entrance to the chamber, the room could synthesize the setting of that memory into a workable map for dueling, meaning that the user of the chamber could recreate virtually any setting he could remember for use in a battle. Further, the chamber automatically stored a memory of all duels that took place inside of it so that its users could have a complete, non-biased record of the duel to review and learn from.

A magical structure with this level of complexity obviously required a great deal of magical energy to maintain and the method by which the chamber acquired that energy was another unique feature of the place. In addition to drawing upon the ambient magic in the air inside and around the structure, the combat simulator drew power from a large room underneath it filled with thousands of magical rodents bred and kept under stasis by the atoll's house elves. Further, the simulator was set to siphon off magical energy from those who were using it. This feature had the added benefit of training users of the simulator to cast spells and triumph in duels with diminished power, making them that much more dangerous outside the simulator when they had full power.

However, the miraculous achievement of Alphard's combat simulator was thoroughly lost on the group as Tonks addressed them. Though that morning's hangovers had long-since been cured by Fred and George's Morning-After Potion, there was no relief from the sheer tiredness of having been up virtually all night; Harry and Blaise had been the first to bed by a wide margin when they retired at 2 a.m.

"No one?" Tonks asked snidely, sighing on the inside. Though she was only one year removed from her teens, she sighed at the younger people before her. _Rookies_, she thought. _How did none of them think to start a Pepper-Up Potion? That's like the first rule of partying…_

She watched as the crowd shifted about and looked nervously at one another. If this had been a class at Hogwarts, this was normally the spot where Hermione would raise her hand and bail everyone out, but today Hermione was at the front with Tonks as an instructor. Tonks wondered idly how many of the rising sixth years in the bunch had ever had to be the first to answer a teacher's question.

Finally, Seamus spoke up. "Is it that we spent so much time on defensive spells rather than offensive ones," he asked.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Tonks. "And more to the point, what few offensive spells you _did_ learn lacked the capacity to _really_ slow down or stop an opponent. It's not necessary that _every_ spell you cast in a fight be aimed to maim or kill your opponent – such spells _do_ tend to be more draining than a simple Stunner – but you should know how to take someone _out_ of the fight if need be. If you'll follow me into the Experimentation Room, we'll start learning."

Tonks walked into the rightmost door and heard the group follow her. Inside, Tonks found Blaise lying on a couch she had apparently conjured for herself. "Are we ready?" Tonks asked.

Blaise merely motioned to the rest of the room, where there were six golems sitting in chairs. Tonks smiled her thanks at Blaise, who had already returned to sleep, and then turned to the rest of the group again.

"The first spell we'll be teaching you is the Bone Breaking Curse," said Tonks. "It's a simple spell really, no more complicated than a simple Stunner. Observe."

Tonks instructed the golem in the furthest left chair to stand up and take a step toward her. As soon as the golem was in position, Tonks snapped her wand forward and a small blue bolt of energy flashed out of her wand and rocketed forth into the golem's upper thigh. Instantly, the golem gave a loud shriek of pain and crashed into the ground where it lay whimpering and clutching its leg.

"Sorry, I should have warned you," said Tonks, noticing that several of the group had recoiled in shock. "The golems will react _exactly_ as a human would to anything you do to them. Now come in close and have a look." Tonks beckoned the group forward and vanished the pants of the golem, exposing the rapidly yellowing and swelling skin of its leg for all to see.

"A clean break," said Tonks, clinically. "There are a couple of major advantages to the bone-breaker. First, it obviously causes a great deal of pain when it hits true. Second, you may have noticed that it is fast and small compared with other spells? Here, observe." Tonks motioned to Hermione, who drew her wand and pointed it at the wall. Tonks walked next to the brilliant teen and aimed her wand at the same spot. On the count of three, they cast simultaneously, Hermione firing a stunner and Tonks the bone breaker. Tonks' spell hit the wall a full second before Hermione's stunner.

"This speed and size difference makes a bone-breaker much harder to successfully dodge or block," Tonks continued, "and damn near impossible to parry back in your direction, as can be done with a stunner. Finally, watch this."

Tonks knelt down beside the golem and ran her wand over its wound, murmuring under her breath. There was a vaguely sickening little _pop_ as the two halves of the golem's femur bone reattached to one another, and the bruising and swelling instantly started to go down. Tonks stood up and strode some twenty paces away from the golem.

"I've just done a basic field healing charm on him," Tonks explained. "If he were an enemy in a real fight, he might be able to perform that on himself or else have one of his mates do it for him. But unlike if he had been Stunned and then Enervated, he will be significantly impaired for another full day. Observe."

Tonks commanded the golem to charge her and it complied, but it ran well below top speed and had a noticeable limp that forced it to stagger. Tonks allowed the golem to close two-thirds of the distance between them to ensure everyone saw how its running was affected before snapping off another bone-breaker at the glorified target, striking it full on in the head. There was a horrible crunch and the golem instantly plowed face first into the ground. It did not stir.

"That's the other thing," said Tonks. "A strike in the head or neck from a bone-breaker from a wizard or witch of average skill is an eighty-percent fatality event. As the lot of you are all well above average witches and wizards, I imagine your fatality rate will be ninety-percent or higher should you hit someone in the head with this curse.

"Now, the incantation for the Bone Breaking Curse is _Rompere_. Split yourselves into pairs, grab a golem, and get to it! Hermione and Blaise and I will be moving among you, helping out as needed. Go!"

It was somewhat slow going at first. This was the first time that anyone in the group learning the curse had cast such a violent spell, and the soft grunts and hisses of pain let out by the golems as they were bruised by less-than-effective spells were not helping matters either. Finally, after a half-hour, the sharp snap of a bone and a golem's cry of pain rent the air for the first time.

"Well done, Seamus!" exclaimed Hermione, flashing the boy a wide smile. "Now what's keeping the rest of you? If Seamus can do it, surely the rest of you can as well? Look, it's not difficult!" Hermione jabbed her wand at the unused golem seated across the room that had replaced the one Tonks had killed earlier and scored a direct hit to its right shoulder, eliciting another cry of pain. "Now come on everyone, man up!"

The group returned to casting with renewed focus and before long, everyone had had success breaking at least one bone. Tonks gave a brief lecture in the use of the field healing charm and then directed the group to switch up responsibilities, with one partner casting bone breakers and the other attempting to heal the golem. As there was an odd number, Hermione sent Dean to go work with Neville and joined Seamus.

"That really was quite impressive," she said, idly hitting all of the golem's extremities with bone-breakers as it lay on the ground. "You did it even before the Weasley twins and they've already left school!"

"Thanks," said Seamus as he knelt by the golem and set about trying to repair its injuries. He paused for a second, then said, "It's just sort of weird, you know? Training ourselves to maim people…there's just something sort of off about it."

"I know what you mean," said Hermione. "But – oh no, you're doing that all wrong, hold your wand like _this_," she broke into her thought to correct Seamus' grip. "We're training to fight evil, evil people though," she continued. "Personally, I rather look forward to dishing out some payback to those arseholes."

Seamus nodded somewhat absently, concentrating on trying to mend the golem's arm.

"And of course, we do it for Harry," said Hermione fervently. "I'd do anything for him, and I imagine since you're here, you'd do the same."

Seamus let out a shout of triumph as the golem's arm finally popped back into position. He smiled back up at Hermione, "Of course," he said. "Anything for Harry. Where is he today, by the way?"

"Oh, he'll be back soon," said Hermione. "He's off for his own training."

"Come on Potter, you can do better than that," hissed Voldemort as Harry picked himself off the ground, and hastily applied the field healing charm to the fearsome gash on his left shoulder before he could lose a significant amount of blood.

"Is this how you learned to transfigure metal into animals then, with the metal flying at you intent on taking your life," asked Harry bitterly.

"No," said Voldemort with an amused smile playing on his snake-like features. "I learned it in Dumbledore's Transfiguration class, seventh year. But I feel like saving yourself from grievous injury is a more powerful motivator than House points, no?"

Harry merely glared at him.

"And look, you've nearly got it," said Voldemort, pointing behind Harry to where the iron shard he had fired at Harry had ended up. Harry looked and saw that the shard, though it had maintained its pointy shape, had sprouted legs and was trundling about haphazardly in the corner, crashing into the wall every few steps.

"Well, that is some-" but Harry broke off as he felt a pulse of magic behind him. He dropped to the floor and spun round, slashing his wand in a wide arc in Voldemort's direction as he did so. The iron shard Voldemort had shot at him whizzed through the air where his neck had been not seconds before and Voldemort was forced to side step the dark purple cutting curse Harry had sent at him. The Dark Lord's dodge was hasty and largely undignified, but he grinned at Harry all the same as he straightened himself.

"Very good reflexes, Harry," he said. "But I wanted you to transfigure it as we had been practicing. Here, let me show you how it's done."

Sighing, Harry jabbed his wand in Voldemort's direction and steadied himself for whatever foul creature the Dark Lord would send back his way.

For safety's sake, Voldemort lightly stepped out of the trajectory of Harry's bolt and trained his wand upon it. In an instant, the iron shard had turned into a spider the size of a man, which began to scurry toward Harry until

"_Reducto!_" Harry cried and the spider exploded, showering Voldemort with goo and other disgusting bits. Harry did not pause to admire the destruction, but instead pressed the advantage of distraction and snapped off five quick bone-breakers in Voldemort's direction, then followed up these with another iron shard.

Voldemort managed to block the bone breakers but did not notice the iron shard until it was too late. The brutal spike blasted through Voldemort's right collarbone, rendering his wand arm useless. Voldemort gave a very un-Dark Lord-like shriek of pain and collapsed. In an instant, Harry had disarmed him and stood over him, a pinprick of green light flickering on the tip of the boy's wand as he pointed it at the Dark Lord's head.

"Do you yield," asked Harry.

"Indeed," said Voldemort, forcing a genuine smile despite his pain. Harry backed off and helped the Dark Lord to his feet.

"That was quite the ingenious idea, Harry," praised Voldemort as Harry cast a stasis charm on Voldemort's shoulder to prevent massive bleeding. "I had not realized the spider could be used against me in that way."

"I imagine when you've used it against Dumbledore, he just vanishes it, right?"

Voldemort merely nodded, gritting his teeth as shock wore off and the pain from his wound truly started to set in.

"Let's get you fixed up," said Harry and he called for Voldemort's personal elf, Tiki. Within seconds, the Dark Lord was lying on a conjured bed, a magical poultice making a slight hissing noise as it worked to heal his shoulder.

The Dark Lord looked up from his bed and made eye contact with Harry. "You're coming along quite nicely, Harry. It has been decades since I've had an injury like this. Very well done, indeed."

Harry smiled at the praise, but waved it aside. "It wasn't a real fight. I suspect you were not expecting me to fire back at you at all."

"I was not," Voldemort allowed. "Nor was I actually trying to kill you."

"Not that you could, even if you wanted to," said Harry and both of them flashed true smiles.

"You should go back and get your shoulder looked after," said Voldemort after a moment. "That field healing charm is only meant to be a temporary fix to keep you in the fight."

"Right you are," said Harry. "We wouldn't want me permanently damaged before my trial with Puddlemere now would we?"

Voldemort smirked.

"It _will _be a _real_ trial, will it not," asked Harry with a hint of accusation in his voice. "You _promised_ you wouldn't do any tampering."

"Oh come off it Potter, you can't seriously expect I'd let you play for anyone but Tutshill, not when I have the power to stop it."

"Yes, really covert you're being," said Harry scathingly. "Should stay a real secret that I'm with you now when you show up and _Imperius_ Fitzgerald to get me on the team."

"Spare me, Potter," said Voldemort. "You don't honestly think I'd do it like _that_ do you? I'm almost insulted. Now go get your arm fixed."

Harry sighed but relented, realizing the futility of continued argument. "Same time tomorrow, then?"

"Until then, Potter."

Harry reappeared in his master bedroom on Alphard's Atoll. He smirked at the still-disheveled sheets on his bed, amused by the memory of the rather _forceful_ way he and Blaise had ejected the house-elf who had inadvertently interrupted them when he came in to make the bed. There was no sign of Blaise in the room now, though, so Harry quickly changed out of the combat robes Voldemort had given him and into his standard relaxed tropical outfit: white khaki shorts, a silk floral shirt, and leather flip flops. He fiddled with his hair momentarily before heading off to find Blaise. He _had _to find Blaise, although for the life of him he couldn't say why it was _so_ urgent.

Harry walked quickly out of the villa, through the jungle path and across the bridge to the island that contained the combat simulator. He entered the Experimentation Room and was pleasantly surprised by what he found: the group had apparently already progressed past Bone Breakers and was now working on various cutting curses and stabilizing the wounds they created. He saw Blaise notice him from across the room and smiled as she abandoned Fred and came running up to him. He caught her with a big hug and earned a slight squeal – was it of surprise? Pleasure? Harry did not know – as he kissed her.

"_Finite Meminisse_," incanted Blaise and Harry blinked his eyes a few times before smiling at her again.

"So, things are going well here, then?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes, everyone is making outstanding progress," Blaise said, and Harry noticed that the girl was positively glowing at him.

"Think any of them could help me out with this?" Harry pushed up the sleeve indicated his shoulder, where blood was beginning to seep through charm and trickle out of the wound.

"Blimey, Harry, how did that happen?" asked Dean, looking over from his position at the nearest golem.

"Training got a bit rough," said Harry. He was tempted to leave it at that but with a grin added, "You should have seen the other guy though."

Harry felt Blaise searching him with his eyes to see if he was being serious and he gave a discreet nod. The Slytherin witch's jaw loosened slightly. "They're still just on the basic field healing charms," she said. "I'll call the medical elf, yeah?"

Harry nodded, and within a couple seconds he was sitting in a conjured chair as the elf tended to his shoulder. Harry had still yet to learn the names of the elves that tended the island, but it wasn't for want of trying. For whatever reason, his elves – on the very rare occasion that he saw one – would not speak to him. Whether this was because they were particularly subordinate elves who felt it was not their place to speak or because they did not like him, Harry wasn't sure. But either way, Harry was not too concerned as Hermione seemed to have given up the last vestiges of her S.P.E.W. advocacy. Harry imagined the beliefs were still there, but Hermione seemed to have realized that there was little she could do about them at the moment.

As Harry's shoulder healed, most of the group came to surround his chair and they chatted about that day's training. After a few minutes of this, Seamus asked, "So what did you learn today, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "All of my work today revolved around one relatively simple, but highly effective spell," he said. "Are any of you familiar with _Battenti ferro_?" Hermione and Tonks nodded – this was one of the spells Kingsley had taught them earlier in the summer – but the others simply looked at him vacantly.

"That's alright," Harry said. "I suppose I might as well just show you. If you would all stand aside…" Harry stood up from his chair and commanded one of the golems to stand up opposite him, some ten yards away. With a sharp jab of his wand, Harry once again let fly the shard of iron but unlike in his duel with Voldemort, the curse struck true. The shard buried itself deep in the chest cavity of the golem, which could only let out a brief scream before falling dead.

"As you can see, _Battenti ferro_ shoots a very sharp shard of iron at its target. It can be lethal at distances of up to 100 feet and can still cause major damage from 150 feet. It gains a great deal of effectiveness because it cannot be blocked by _Protego_ or any other of the strictly magical shields. The standard defense against it is simply to dodge or conjure something else into its path.

"However, my tutor and I were going over other defenses against it today," Harry continued. "One of the first principles of high-level dueling is that you want to give your opponent as many different variables to worry about as possible. So once our opponent has done us the favor of conjuring iron and shooting it at us, we now have the opportunity to transfigure that iron into something we can have attack our opponent…perhaps a wolf or a snake, or something else that could do real damage if it made it past his defenses."

"Wicked," breathed George. "Can you show us that, then?"

Harry shook his head sadly. "I still haven't got the hang of it yet," said Harry. "I got pretty good at transfiguring them into pebbles that would just fall harmlessly, but creating a whole animal out of iron…it's not easy."

Harry sighed and silence fell over the group for a short bit until Hermione spoke up. "Well, it's about time to head into the dueling chamber and get started on learning stealth. Who wants to kill the golems?"

"Kill the golems," asked Angelina, confusion evident on her face. "Why would we kill them?"

"The magical energy the room expends keeping them 'alive' will delay us in the dueling chamber," explained Hermione. "Plus, it's important that we all begin getting more comfortable with the idea of killing things…if we can't kill golems that aren't actually alive in here, we will surely hesitate if we need to kill a Death Eater out there."

"Why don't you go first, Hermione," Harry suggested.

Hermione nodded and with a flick of her wrist, a strong Bludgeoning hex flashed out of her wand and struck a golem in the neck, crushing its windpipe and vertebrae. The golem died instantly.

Seamus volunteered to go next and opted to use the bone-breaker to the head that Tonks had demonstrated at the beginning of the day. The group was somewhat used to gore now and when Seamus reported no pangs of conscience for what he had done, Ernie and Katie quickly finished off the other two. Harry nodded and turned to the group.

"Killing isn't – and shouldn't be – fun," he said. "No matter how many times you kill golems in here or in the dueling chamber, whenever you do it in real life you will feel like an awful person. You will hate yourself. But remember that it will feel infinitely worse if your hesitation to kill an enemy causes the death of a friend. Make sure that the enemy dies for his cause so that you and those you care about live for yours. Keep that in mind and you'll all be fine. Now, let's go learn some stealth, eh?"

And thus, the pattern for life on Alphard's Atoll was established. Every morning, Harry would head out to meet Voldemort and train with the Dark Lord, delving deeper and deeper into advanced dueling concepts. Voldemort was a veritable font of information on ways to turn literally every part of the dueling environment into a weapon against your opponent. Harry now understood why no one had ever dueled Voldemort and bested him: when the Dark Lord had the offensive initiative in a fight, he was simply relentless in transfiguring, conjuring, and animating items to prevent his opponent from ever being able to cast offensive spells back. No defender, no matter how talented, could hold up against this onslaught indefinitely; everyone would eventually make a fatal error, tire out, or simply give up. Voldemort explained to Harry that interspersing even just a few actual offensive spells among attacks from conjured items had a powerful psychological effect that made his opponents feel as though the spells and attacks were much faster and more numerous than they actually were, which hastened the onset of fatal mistakes from virtually all villains. Voldemort explained that the only way he _could be_ beaten in a duel were if an opponent were equally skilled in maintaining offensive pressure, had an equally vast knowledge of spells and their counters, and was mentally sharp enough to keep up with the Dark Lord. In that case, he said, whoever had more physical and magical endurance would prevail, but if Voldemort were ever in a fight with a villain like that, he would simply retreat. "That's why people think I'm afraid of Dumbledore," Voldemort had said. "Because I would always retreat when he came on a scene. But it's not that I'm afraid of him, it's that I've never had a reason to engage him in a duel to the death. By the time Dumbledore shows up, I've already done as much damage as I need to get across whatever the point of that attack was."

Harry and Voldemort didn't have a set time length for their training, they would just continue until one or both of them was too injured or too tired to continue. Whenever that would happen, Harry would return to the Atoll and take on an advisory role in the training the others were doing. Approximately half the time, the trio of Hermione, Blaise and Tonks would lead lessons on the Atoll, focusing on building everyone's repertoire of spells and stealth techniques. The rest of the time, Moody, Kingsley and Lupin would come in to tutor the group on applying their knowledge to real situations, running drills in the dueling chamber on everything from sneaking into buildings undetected and silently kidnapping a target to engaging in pitched battle with legions of Death Eaters in the streets of Hogsmeade. On these days, Blaise and Hermione would go to their tutoring with Bellatrix and learn ever more vile ways of dispatching opponents. Bellatrix had none of Voldemort's penchant for Transfiguration, preferring instead to simply attempt to overwhelm her opponents with the sheer number and violence of her spells. Her going theory that she only needed to connect on one lucky shot to incapacitate or kill an opponent, so why bother with being fancy?

Meanwhile, all the residents of the Atoll continued to grow much closer together as the month wore on. The most noticeable change was the development of Harry's relationships with Seamus and Katie. It was strange, Harry thought, that he hadn't been this close with either of them before the Atoll; he had lived with Seamus for 5 years and served on a Quidditch team with Katie for just as long. On reflection, Harry surmised that the Golden Trio may have been too insular in their time at the castle. But none of that mattered now. Katie was a quick-witted, boisterous, _mischievous_ girl. This aspect of her made a pain, but Harry greatly enjoyed her. Meanwhile, Seamus was rapidly growing into the male best friend role that Harry had been missing since he had dispatched Ron. For all the boy's faults – jealousy, impulsivity, fickleness – it had been nice to have someone with whom he could share light, manly conversation. Harry loved the rest of the Platinum Quartet to death, of course, but there had been just something _different_ about it without a guy around. There were just certain things he was more comfortable talking about with another guy: things like Quidditch, drinking games, and girls. Or one specific girl.

Blaise.

Harry and Blaise had not yet put a label on what precisely was going on between them, but Harry knew he did not want it to stop. In public, not much had changed between them; besides the occasional kisses and light touches they were still the same as they had ever been. But in private…_wow_. Harry had not known pleasure of the sort Blaise was giving him was even possible to achieve once, let alone possible to experience night in and night out for weeks. Hermione had asked him how he felt about the Slytherin beauty one night as the two of them relaxed on one of the open-air balconies on the second floor of the villa, recovering from a long day of training. Harry wasn't sure how to respond. The two had become excellent friends, that was certain, and there was this new physical element of their relationship, but did that translate into deeper feelings? Harry wasn't sure.

"Well, do you love her?" Hermione asked.

Harry gave his brainy friend a look. "I've not even known her for a month," he noted pointedly.

"Just checking," said Hermione. "She is your first…you know," Hermione made a vague gesture with her hands. "I wouldn't be too surprised if you were getting carried away."

There was a pause, and then Hermione continued. "Do you think of yourself as her boyfriend?" she asked. "Do you expect the two of you to be 'exclusive' with each other? And what does Blaise think?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know," he said. "We've never talked about what we are at all, she just shows up in my room and we…" Harry made the same vague hand gesture that Hermione had employed before. "I'm having fun. Do I really think there's a future between us, like long-term? I don't know about that. But at the same time I can't really think of anything that would split us up, so who knows, you know? I've no idea what she thinks about all this. I'd be shocked if she was, like, over the moon about me or something."

Hermione nodded. "Well you should talk to her about it," she said. "You know it could be awkward for us all if the two of you have a messy breakup. Girlfriend or not, she's going to be key to us when you take power."

"Yeah," said Harry softly. He stood up from his lounge chair and walked over to the railing of the balcony, gazing unseeingly out over his paradise. _Take power_.

"It's so strange, you know?" Harry's voice was quiet enough that he might have been talking to himself but he knew Hermione could hear him. He gave a soft chuckle. "It's bloody well _insane_ is what it is. I'm sixteen and I'm supposed to not only kill one of the most powerful wizards of all time but then run a country too? Undo centuries of institutionalized prejudice? It's absurd."

Hermione left her seat and joined him at the rail. She placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbed him softly. "I know it's mad," she said. "But the fates chose you for a reason. No sixteen year old should be able to handle this burden, but _you can_. You're _Harry Potter_ and honestly – all the "Boy-Who-Lived," "Chosen One" stuff aside – you're the strongest, most resilient person I've ever met. You are more than equal to this task, and Harry," Hermione paused briefly and lightly set her hand on his jaw, rotating his head so that he had to look at her, "you are _not_ alone. I will be by your side no matter what. You know that goes for Tonks and Blaise as well. Everyone on this island, for that matter."

Harry smiled and wrapped his friend in a brief, but deeply comforting hug. When they broke apart, Harry took Hermione's hand and led her back to the couch between the two lounge chairs they had been sitting in before. As they settled into the creamy white, impossibly soft cushion, Hermione leaned into Harry's side and he ran his hand through the girl's hair. Over the course of the summer, Hermione's hair had lost its bushiness; it was still wavy to be sure, but it was softer and smoother than he remembered. Perhaps she was not "hot" in the traditional sense as Blaise was, but Hermione had turned into an undeniably, remarkably attractive witch, Harry mused. He smirked as he thought about the lingering looks he had caught Seamus shooting Hermione's way. _I'm not the only one who's noticed_, he thought.

"What are you thinking about," asked Hermione.

Harry didn't answer immediately, not wanting to tell the truth and make things awkward. Instead, he replied with an issue he had been meaning to talk to Hermione about anyway.

"Voldemort says I'm getting ready," he said.

"Really?" Hermione breathed. "Does that mean you know…"

"Yeah. When can you and Blaise be ready?"

"I think we've been ready, it's really not too hard with those brilliant cloaks he gave us." Hermione said. A beat passed. "When do you want to do it?"

"How does tonight sound?"

Hermione nodded, a grim smile breaking out over her face. "I'll go find Blaise."

Severus Snape was sitting in his living room, browsing the latest edition of the _International Journal of Potions_. This month's featured article was about the results of noted American Potions Master Ian Cumings' three-year study into the use of Mandrake extract as a universal catalyst to speed magical reactions in the body. Unfortunately, it seemed that the hypothesis had been false: though Mandrake extract had shown promise at the beginning of the research, some unknown quality of the plant ruined most potions it was added to. However, the work had not been all for naught, as Cumings had accidentally discovered that the Mandrake might have some potential in potions to treat wizards afflicted with long-term mental damage.

Or at least, that's what Snape _thought_ the article said. He couldn't be too sure though, as Wormtail's snickering had broken his concentration seemingly every other minute for the past hour. _Why_ he had acquiesced to the simpleton's request to visit a Muggle comic book store, Snape would never know.

Wormtail let loose a particularly loud giggle and Snape opened his mouth to issue a scathing remark to the balding Animagus, but he never got the chance. Without warning, Snape's front door exploded into thousands of pieces and the Potions Master instantly jumped to his feet and drew his wand. Slowly, a cloaked figure made its way through the frame. Snape took in the gray cloak, the odd insignia, and the dark hood, seemingly empty except for those malevolently glowing green eyes. This was the new Master, the one who had tortured Bella. Despite himself, Snape gave an involuntary shudder. This figure just screamed malice. Snape made a mental note to tell Dumbledore to disregard his theory about Potter…there was simply no way that scrawny brat could intimidate the way this figure did.

"Good, you're both here," hissed the specter, looking between Snape and Wormtail.

"My Lord," murmured Snape, sinking into a bow. Wormtail – who had never heard what happened to Bellatrix – was confused but hastily copied his minder's actions. Both were very unnerved by the figure's voice

"You know who I am?" The figure hissed.

"Yes, Master," said Snape, who remained in his bow with his eyes averted. He did not want to give this man any reason to start conjuring boulders.

"Good. I have orders from the Dark Lord. " The figure unfurled a piece of parchment from his cloak and read from it. "Snape, you are ordered to report to Malfoy Mansion immediately."

Snape nodded and began to draw himself together but stopped when the figure continued.

"You are also ordered to say goodbye to Wormtail before you leave."

Snape goggled at his new master. "If I may be so bold," he began, being careful to stay as respectful as possible. "Why am I ordered to do that?"

Snape started as a flash of red light appeared out of nowhere and Wormtail slumped to the ground, Stunned. Then, Wormtail's arms reached up off the floor and the man's body was dragged out of the house by some unseen force. _There are others in the room?_ Snape thought wildly.

But before Snape could ponder this more, the figure spoke again and Snape could have sworn that he detected a note of giddiness in his new Master's otherwise malevolent hiss.

"Because this is the last time you're going to see him alive."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Mmmmmm I've been waiting for this moment in the story for YEARS! Oh yes, Mr. Pettigrew is in for quite the time.

The only other thing I really want to say about this chapter is that I hope people are enjoying Harry's relationship with Blaise, because I know I am. As I told my twitter followers Writing their scene at the top of this chapter was honestly the most fun I've ever had writing a scene for this story. But beyond the personal enjoyment I'm getting out of writing it, I hope you guys are appreciating the realism of their relationship. In my opinion, one of the most annoying things about Harry Potter fan fiction is how even good authors have this remarkable taboo about sex...with the exception of Harem stories, Harry and his girlfriends in the fandom almost invariably want to "save themselves" for marriage and are remarkably shy about advancing past light petting. It's just bizarre and makes me think virtually all fanfiction authors are like 14 year old virgins (oh wait, I might have a point there). In any event, in this story, Harry and Blaise are simply behaving as 16 year olds with their own private island and no meddlesome adults would.

Also, no 16 year olds that I'm aware of are looking for life partners...just wtf at stories that marry off Harry in his 6th year. Sigh.

Anyhow, on to reviews! There were more than 5 that I wanted to respond to in here this time so deal with it lol.

First, **noylj:** lolololololol come on man. If you're gonna get all bent out of shape about something in my fic, please just flame the cliches in the first few chapters or Harry torturing Ron or something...ANYTHING really, except for getting pissed about my joke at George W. Bush's expense. Just calm down, bro.

To **josh148513: **I got a real kick out of your review, the bluntness of "u started in 06 and its 10 and u have 11 chapters" was hilarious to me. I hope this update was sufficiently speedy for your standards :)

To **TheUnrealInsomniac: **First of all, I love your screen name, it would be very fitting for me as well lol. Second, I don't think I'll be killing Blaise (although don't quote me on that, I'm not 100% sure either way), but you're very warm about what my plans for the end of their relationship will do. In truth though, I think that Blaise getting killed would be much more likely to push Harry completely over the brink into evilness rather than draw him back into humanity...unless Harry killed her himself in a fit of Dark Magic-induced rage...hmmm this is interesting. I may have to think about it more.

To **Amylion: **I sincerely hope you're joking...why anyone would _want_ Harry to have sex with Voldemort is utterly beyond me. That won't be happening in this story lol.

To **oceanlover14:** Thanks so much for the kind words.

To **demonicnargles: **You've made an excellent observation. Everyone who signed on with Harry is showing an incredible, _incredible_ level of trust in him. So you know, Seamus' comments when Harry first tells him and Dean that he thinks Dumbledore will kill him are basically meant to sum up the attitude of the group: they believe that Harry has proven to tell the truth so often that they don't see any reason why he would begin lying now. But that's still a huuuge thing to trust him about, and that's why Harry was so moved by them and carries their signatures around with him He's never known this kind of acceptance from anyone save Hermione. By the way, for all you aspiring reviewers out there, use demonicnargles' review as a template. That was fantastically done, thank you.

**Frequently Asked Question: **_How did Snape figure out it was Harry so quickly?_

-I hope that I cleared up his logic adequately in this chapter. Also, as I told my twitter followers, it's important to remember/realize that about 12 hours pass between Bella being tortured and Snape going to Dumbledore, so he had plenty of time to mull it over. It wasn't as though he heard her and snap-realized what was going on. Now that Snape no longer thinks that it's Harry, though, it should be an interesting dynamic between him and Dumbledore (who I think has been thoroughly convinced). It will be a classic clash of emotion vs. reason, which is (of course) one of the themes I'm trying to develop in this story.

Alright, I think that's all! As always, please leave your reviews! Follow me on twitter! And if you have any other questions or comments, feel free to post them in my forums, PM them to me, mention or DM me on twitter, whatever you want to do. But definitely leave reviews!

Until next time,

Lord Supremo.


	13. Lord Gaunt

**Author's Note: **We're back! Before we get on with the show, a couple quick notes. First of all, for the latest in RotA updates, news, etc., be sure to follow me on twitter, my handle is Supremostories. Also, for more in-depth thoughts from me on RotA, as well as fic reviews, general thoughts and rants about fan fiction, and anything else Harry Potter-related that goes through my mind, check out my blog on Wordpress, also titled Supremostories. See my profile for the link! Thanks so much!

And now, on with the show! Please leave reviews!

Disclaimer: The owner of Harry Potter is publishing her first non-Harry Potter novel this fall. I will be publishing nothing this fall, or any other time in the near future. Infer what you will.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Lord Gaunt

Wormtail came to with a start. _What happened, _he wondered desperately, looking wildly around. _Where am I?_

He was sitting on a floral-patterned couch in what appeared to be the living room of a modest Muggle home. There was a fireplace to his right with several still photographs adorning the mantelpiece: a beefy man with a large moustache and very little neck; an ovoid boy who must have been the son of the beefy man; a thin, rather severe looking woman with a face like a horse and reddish-brown hair. There was something about this woman that was faintly familiar to Wormtail, though he did not know what it was – the knowledge was there but it teetered on the edge of his consciousness, teasing him as a thoughtless child might torment a leashed dog with a treat placed just beyond its reach.

Wormtail made to get up and inspect the picture more closely but found that he could not: he was attached to the couch by a very powerful sticking charm. _This is not good_, thought Wormtail. What had happened before he was knocked out? He had been at Snape's house relaxing…then the scary-looking man had blown the door apart and ordered Snape to report to the Dark Lord. Who _was_ the scary man? Snape had called him "My Lord," and "Master" as though the man had been the Dark Lord, but obviously that was not the case. _What was going on?_

Wormtail sat there pondering this for a long time – an hour? Two? Three? He had no frame of reference to know – and got nowhere. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he had simply been left to die a slow death by starvation, dehydration, boredom, or some combination thereof, the Animagus heard the sound of a door opening to his left. He turned his head and saw a figure enter the room. It was the same scary man who had blown apart Snape's door. Wormtail gulped and shuddered as best he was able with the sticking charm in place. This man, whoever he was, was simply terrifying.

The figure crossed the room silently and stopped directly in front of Wormtail. For a long while, the figure simply stood there, the malevolent green triangles it had for eyes glowing and seeming to bore into Wormtail's soul. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the figure spoke.

"Wormtail," the figure hissed dangerously.

The muriod man merely gulped.

"I won't lie, Wormtail," the figure continued. It began to pace in front of the trapped man. "You're in a spot of bother. The Dark Lord wants you dead."

"Wh-What?!" sputtered Wormtail. "Why?!"

"Because you fucking suck," spat the figure coldly, ceasing its pacing momentarily to glare. "In every way, Wormtail, you are the most worthless, poorest excuse for a Death Eater the Dark Lord has ever seen. You're fat, lazy, stupid, vile, smelly, incompetent, pathetic…"

"But I sought him out!" cried Wormtail, cutting off the figure's tirade. "I escaped from the Mudblood-loving fools and sought him out! I was the only one! I helped him regain his body…I gave up my hand for him!" Wormtail tried to wave his silver hand as proof but was once again foiled by the sticking charm.

The figure jabbed his wand at Wormtail's midsection and a small iron ball came hurtling out of the end of his wand, scoring a direct hit on the Death Eater's testes. "I wasn't finished," the figure hissed, ignoring Wormtail's howls of pain.

"As I was saying, you are a pathetic Death Eater. You have the magical power of a Squib, the intelligence of a mountain troll, and less refinement than the freshest Mudblood. But the Dark Lord knew all of this when he first recruited you. He can tolerate feckless pieces of shit like you so long as you can cast a Killing Curse, hate Mudbloods, and are loyal. But that's the key thing, Wormtail. You must be _loyal_."

"But I have always been the most loyal!" cried Wormtail. "I brought the Dark Lord back to power! I delivered the Potters to him!"

"_Spare me_," said the figure with great venom as he fired another iron ball into Wormtail's crotch. "The Dark Lord believes that you carried out the attack on Ron Weasley this June. Such extracurricular activities cannot and will not be tolerated."

Wormtail gaped at the figure through the tears that had started dripping from his eyes. "Me? Attack Weasley? I swear I didn't…it wasn't me! You have to believe me…" Wormtail started to weep in earnest.

"Shut it you blithering fool," snapped the figure. "In honesty, I don't believe that you did it either. I doubt you have the brainpower to pull off a kidnapping and torture without being caught by the Aurors. That's why I've convinced the Dark Lord to allow you to live in my custody. You can be of use to me here, but only if you follow my rules _to the letter_. One violation and I will hand you over to the Dark Lord. Do you accept my terms?"

Wormtail could not believe his luck. "Yes, yes, please, anything."

"Good," hissed the figure again and Wormtail felt himself being released from the sticking charm. "My unit is talented, but they lack significant operational experience. Look around you, and tell me where you think you might be."

"A Muggle house," answered Wormtail somewhat uncertainly. He wasn't sure if this was a trick question.

"Correct. This is exactly the sort of place that the Muggle-loving fools in the Order might use as a safe house: an unspectacular Muggle house in an unspectacular Muggle neighborhood in an unspectacular Muggle city." The figure seemed to quiver with disgust, but moved on. "We will be running an exercise today: my followers will attempt to attack this house; you, along with these three golems, will attempt to defend it as the Order would. This means you may not use your Animagus ability, you may not use that lovely silver hand of yours as anything more than a normal hand, and you _may not_ use lethal force. If any of my followers die in this exercise today, I will have you pleading for your own death for days before I grant it to you. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," said Wormtail seriously. If Voldemort had wanted him dead, then the fact he was still alive was nothing short of miraculous. He would not do anything do jeopardize his savior's favor. He started to examine the golems that had materialized in front of him, but stopped to concentrate as the figure resumed talking.

"Good. You have thirty minutes to familiarize yourself with the layout of the house and construct your defenses. We have calculated that Dumbledore's response time to an attack on one of his safe houses should be about twenty minutes. If you can hold out for that long, you will have 'won' the exercise and will be rewarded. Good luck."

The figure cancelled the sticking charm attaching Wormtail to the couch and turned to leave, but before Wormtail could help himself he called out, "May I ask you a question?"

The figure turned back to Wormtail and motioned for the Death Eater to continue.

"If you don't mind me asking," Wormtail began sheepishly, suddenly feeling silly for asking the question, "who are you?"

The figure considered Wormtail for a long time, and once again the man felt as though those glowing green eyes were invading his very soul. Finally, the figure spoke.

"You may call me Lord Gaunt."

And with that, the figure swept from the room.

* * *

"Alright everyone, settle down," said Harry to the group assembled before him in the Jump-Off Room. "I have a treat for you today. Does anyone have any guesses?"

"You're actually going to train with us today?" asked Katie cheekily.

Harry paused. "Well…yes, for part of the day I will be, but that's not the treat. Other guesses? Try to extrapolate from the things you've been learning lately."

"Blaise and Hermione have been teaching us some powerful demolition spells," said Dean. "So, are we going to…demolish something?" the boy finished, somewhat sheepishly.

"You're on the right track," said Harry. "Continue that thought. What might a group like ours be interested in demolishing?"

Dean thought about it for a brief moment. "A stronghold of some sort? Like, a Death Eater fortress?"

"Precisely," said Harry. "Although today we won't be attacking anything so imposing as a fortress. Instead, we'll be raiding a simulated Death Eater safehouse. Inside the house there are three low-value targets and one high value target. Our primary objective is to capture the high-value target alive and in good enough condition to be interrogated. Our secondary objectives are to capture or incapacitate the low-value targets, extract any useful material from the safehouse, and to destroy the thing when we leave. Any questions?"

"Not to be rude or anything," began Ernie, "but how is this a treat? This sounds basically the same as what we've been doing this whole time."

Harry gave a small smile. "You'll see," he said cryptically. "Are we ready to go?"

A little confused, the group nonetheless gave its assent and Harry opened the door to the combat simulator, revealing the park Dudley and his gang so loved to vandalize. The group gathered around Harry, who cast a _Reparo_ on the broken swing set and sat down in the middle; Blaise and Hermione joined him at either side.

"Welcome to Little Whinging, Surrey," Harry began. "As you may know, this is the town I grew up in. Our target is 4 Privet Drive, my childhood home. The connection to my past is irrelevant here, however. I have chosen this place as the staging ground for today's exercise because it is exactly the sort of place that Death Eaters have historically chosen to hide in when the going gets rough.

"Now for the treat: For this exercise I have managed to procure a real-life Death Eater to help defend the target house. Today, we will go through all the steps of capturing, questioning, and disposing of a Death Eater, for real. Questions?"

The group exploded and Harry grimaced, realizing that he should have expected them to. Holding up his hands for quiet, the Boy Who Lived requested that they ask questions one at a time. He recognized Katie first.

"Who is it, and how did you get him," demanded the girl.

"It's Peter Pettigrew," said Harry. "For those of you who don't know, Peter Pettigrew is the man who betrayed my parents to Voldemort and framed my godfather for murder. He is also the one who killed Cedric Diggory and is primarily responsible for bringing Voldemort back to life. However, despite his rather immense capacity for evil, Pettigrew is a remarkably poor wizard and not well respected either by Voldemort or the rest of the Death Eaters. It will come as a rather large shock to me if we glean much in the way of useful intelligence from him.

"As for how I obtained him," Harry continued, "it was a very standard operation. I blew down his front door and used a great deal of theatrics to scare, confuse, and distract him. Meanwhile, Blaise and Hermione snuck in using the Invisibility function of our cloaks, stunned him and dragged him off. Surely Lupin has had you practicing this?"

There were nods around the group, but Katie was not interested in discussing the former Professor Lupin. "And why is Pettigrew cooperating? Why isn't he escaping or something?"

Harry smiled. "Thanks to a rather impressive Confundus charm from Hermione, Pettigrew believes that I am a new, extremely powerful Death Eater and that he is helping me train a new group of covert fighters for Voldemort. He also thinks that doing so is saving him from Voldemort's wrath, so that tends to make him remarkably pliable."

The group praised Hermione for her excellent charms work, but Harry noticed that Katie still had a disturbed look on her face. The former Chaser mumbled something to herself and then shot a long, rather venomous look at Blaise and Hermione, who were standing together to the right side of the group.

"Right, so shall we go forward then?" asked Harry, seeking to attract the group's attention before someone noticed Katie's disquiet. There was general assent and Harry led them all through the simulated streets of Little Whinging and deliberated what to do about his former teammate.

It was clear to Harry that Katie was not buying his story about the acquisition of Wormtail, but how much did she actually know, or suspect? Harry racked his memory for any other time when he might have slipped.

Harry had always known that it would be impossible to keep the secret of his double life hidden from everyone indefinitely, but he wanted to reveal the secret on his own terms, after everyone was trained in Occlumency. Actually, that wasn't a desire so much as it was a necessity, particularly for the ones who were going back to Hogwarts. If Dumbledore or Snape found out…

But he was getting ahead of himself, Harry realized as he made the turn onto the simulated Privet Drive. Katie might be suspicious of his tale, but it was really quite a leap to assume that she was suspicious he was working with Voldemort. It was far more likely that Katie simply thought there was more to the story than he was letting on. No, there didn't seem to be any real reason to panic here. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and turned to face the group.

"Stop here," he commanded, and the group halted on the corner, blocking the low brick wall bearing the name of the street.

"Our target is number 4 just up ahead," Harry said, pointing around the corner to the small sliver of the house visible to the group from this angle. "It will be protected with a number of wards and other defenses, but as of right now we have no way of knowing what those are. Can someone propose to me a way that we might figure it out? How about you, Seamus?"

The sandy-haired Irish boy thought for a brief moment. "Well, we could fire off one of our demolition spells at it," he suggested. "That would cause any kind of shielding they've got to flare."

"True," said Harry. "But that would instantly alert everyone inside to the fact that they are under attack. In the best case scenario, that would only mean losing our element of surprise, which is bad enough, but it could easily give them the means to escape, call upon reinforcements, destroy evidence, or do anything else that we might not like. Can anyone suggest a more subtle way we might test the wards?"

"We could use some sort of a dummy to test their proximity wards," suggested Angelina. "If we could get a living thing similar in size to a human to walk toward the house, we could note how close it gets before it triggers a defense."

"Very good," said Harry, smiling. "If they've got an alarm up, there will surely be some sort of reaction from within the house when their proximity wards are tripped. If we can observe that reaction, we can test the outer limits of their proximity wards without them ever being the wiser that an attack is underway." With that, Harry cast a strong Blasting Curse into the pavement, breaking free a large chunk of road. A few wand movements later and a large Newfoundland was happily clambering out of the newly created pot hole.

"One hundred and twenty five pounds, well over five feet tall when it stands on its hindquarters, mammal," Harry explained as he watched the dog amble toward Number Four. "It'll definitely be noticed by a proximity ward, but in this neighborhood it's innocuous enough to be ignored by the humans who follow up on the intrusion."

The group moved to a position with a better angle to view the Newfoundland's approach of Number Four. Surely enough, shortly after the dog crossed the property line, Harry saw the blinds in the window of the guest bedroom upstairs part slightly.

"Ah, you see that? So, now we know that at least one of them is…" but Harry trailed off and Ernie let out a shocked gasp behind him as a sickly green curse flashed out of the window and struck the dog. Everyone stared in shock as Harry's transfiguration instantly failed and the chunk of concrete that had once been a dog was blasted into pieces that scattered all over the perfectly manicured lawn.

Hermione was the first to recover. "Well then," she said. "I didn't know the Killing Curse would…"

"That fucking _rat_," Harry snarled, cutting her off. "That was the _one_ fucking rule! No lethal spells! How fucking hard…" Harry trailed off and glared at the house for a minute.

"Change of objectives," he said, addressing the group. "Taking the rat alive and well enough to appreciate an object lesson in the perils of disobedience is now the sole purpose of this mission."

"What does that mean?" asked Seamus, a slightly hopeful lilt in his voice.

"Demolition spells. Now."

The sandy-haired Irish teen didn't need to be told twice. Instantly, he and Dean began crying "_Evello!_" and Harry was impressed as multiple bolts of crackling blue energy raced forward at the house. The active defense wards of the house flared as they dissipated the first several volleys, but finally one of Dean's spells struck true at the base of Number Four's front wall. There was a short flash of blue, and then a _crunch_ as the foundation gave way and the lower walls cracked under the weight of the second floors. The whole structure collapsed into a heap and it was not long before piteous moans from Pettigrew and the golems reached Harry's ears.

"Today's lesson is over," Harry declared, still in the grip of cold fury. "Katie and Blaise: go capture the rat and find somewhere secure to hold him until I get back. Be sure to have a house elf heal any injuries he has too, I want him intact. Everyone else, practice demolition or something on the rest of the neighborhood until Lupin comes."

As the group split up to follow his orders, Harry tracked down Blaise. "I think I'm going to go straight there afterwards," he said in a low voice. "Can you…?"

"Of course," she murmured back. "_Meminisse_."

Harry blinked his eyes thrice before thanking Blaise and leaving her with a quick kiss.

* * *

In stark contrast with the rest of the Wizarding world, Tornados Stadium was a truly modern marvel. Completed just in time for the previous season, it was a triumphant edifice of glass, steel, and magic – spelled so that its edges seemed to shimmer, swirl and twinkle like a mirage rising out of the moor. With a maximum capacity of thirty thousand, it was the largest permanent Quidditch stadium in Europe - the brobdingnagian coliseums built to house the World Cup final were impractically large and thus demolished soon after the conclusion of the tournament.

Sitting alone in the stands of a place like this was distinctly unsettling, Harry observed. He was doing just that, watching Tutshill's first- and second-team Chasers scrimmage against each other while he waited for his trial to begin. Over the three weeks since he had declared for the league (_had it really been that short?_ Harry marveled) Harry had had trials with every other team in the league, with all of them – even the teams with firmly established stars at the Seeker position – expressing major interest. Professional Quidditch was first and foremost a business, and Harry's agent assured him that every general manager was salivating at the marketing opportunities that would come from having the Chosen One on their side.

_"Even the Harpies are thinking about making you an offer," the agent told him about a week ago._

_ "Seriously?" Harry was dumbfounded._

_ "They float the idea of integration every ten years or so," explained the agent. "Probably would've done it last time too if Gwenog Jones hadn't turned into such a star. It'll be a big deal whenever it happens, but imagine how much _bigger_ of a deal it would be if their first ever male player were _Harry Potter_? It'd be international news, they would stand to make millions from the merchandising. All the teams would, but they'd probably stand to make the most."_

_ "So how are we going to play this?"_

_ "Give me a list of the top three teams you'd like me to target. One of them is going to give you the richest contract in BIQL history."_

Voldemort, of course, had insisted that Tutshill be one of those three teams but had surprisingly refrained from requiring that Harry actually play for them. Still, Harry figured he'd probably sign with them. Troy, Bailey and Kostov were far and away the best Chaser line in the league and would lessen the pressure on him as he adjusted to the speed and sophistication of the professional league. Plus, why not play for Voldemort's favorite team? If the two of them were to rule as partners, why introduce unnecessary tension on game day?

Harry's thoughts turned to the upcoming trial. His abilities were already well-known throughout the league – scouts had been attending his matches and practices since first year – so most of the trials had been relatively perfunctory, with teams simply seeking to ensure that his abilities hadn't been diminished by Umbridge's ban or the ravages puberty could sometimes inflict on promising young Seekers. Only the Ballycastle Bats had really put him through his paces. Where most other teams were content to run Harry through simple speed and agility drills, the Bats had gone to the trouble of constructing a twenty mile long obstacle course that had really pushed the outer limits of Harry's stamina and flying ability.

_"Ballycastle's probably in the best position of any team," explained the agent. "They'd been gearing up to make a big splash this offseason anyhow, so they're loaded up with cheap young talent. Either they're going to sign you and trade all their pieces for a star to play alongside you, or they're going to make a move for whatever Seeker you displace and then have a ton of money to go after Fiona Moran. And even if they miss on both of you, they'll have an entertaining, moderately competitive team and a bunch of money to try and win the Viktor Krum sweepstakes next summer."_

_ "So what does that have to do with that bloody gauntlet they just ran me through?" Harry's muscles were still screaming in protest three days later; he was sure it had diminished his performance for Kenmare._

_ "Well, they want to be absolutely sure, don't they? The way they see it, it's a choice between you and Moran and they have to know passing on her to get you would be worth it from the Quidditch perspective."_

Apparently Harry had been deemed worth it, as Ballycastle had immediately made him what was then his largest offer: five years with an average salary of one hundred thousand Galleons per season. Since then, the offers had only swelled: 150,000 from the Falcons, 175,000 from the Wasps; even the perpetually cash-strapped Cannons had offered 110,000 plus a percentage of gate receipts. According to the agent, these offers were just the tip of the iceberg; once Harry had completed all his trials and the bidding war really got started, he could expect his ultimate contract to be in the neighborhood of 300,000 Galleons per season plus a gate percentage.

Harry felt a small twinge of guilt at all this, knowing that he had no intention of even finishing his first season of professional Quidditch, but in the scheme of things he'd done to hide his true intentions it wasn't so bad. It certainly had nothing on murdering those poor security guards in Egypt, whose shocked, horrified faces still haunted him at night…

At that moment, a man sat down next to Harry, jarring him from that morbid line of thought.

"Harry Potter?" he said, offering his hand. "My name's Graem Fitzgerald, I'm the general manager of the Tornados."

"Yes of course," Harry said, taking the hand and shaking it briefly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure."

"Mmm," said Harry noncommittally, taking stock of the man. Fitzgerald was tall and tan, very obviously a former Quidditch player himself, but not one who had let himself go to seed _à la _Ludo Bagman. He wore light blue robes closely tailored to show off his athletic build, and on his lapel was a small pin with two intertwined Ts done in silver. His whole affect was designed to give the impression of wealth and confidence, and it worked.

"I'd like to thank you for your hospitality in letting me in earlier than we had agreed," Harry said. "I had a bit of frustration at home and had to get out of there early."

"No problem at all," grinned Fitzgerald. "How do you find the stadium?"

"Beautiful, of course, extremely impressive. Hogwarts' pitch certainly has nothing on this." A pause. "Will they be calling me onto the pitch soon?" he asked, hoping that they would. Harry was relatively eager to get away from this man. He'd never much been one for the exchange of idle pleasantries, and on top of it there was just something about Fitzgerald that rubbed him the wrong way, something intangible that made him seem fake. Maybe it was the way he grinned. Lockhart had had a grin like that.

"Oh no, I'm afraid you won't be flying for us today," said Fitzgerald, grin still in place. "Pardon me for not being clearer, but this meeting is only about contract negotiation."

This stopped Harry cold. "You don't want to see me fly?" he asked, dumbly.

"We've seen you fly, Harry, and we're quite satisfied. Shall we take this conversation to my private box?"

Harry nodded, still a little stunned, and followed Fitzgerald up the stadium steps until they reached the highest level.

"On game days, this whole floor would be roped off and attended by a team of security wizards," Fitzgerald explained as he opened the door to his suite. "But I don't think there's a need for that kind of protection with just the two of us, do you?"

Harry shook his head as he looked around the box, an impressive mahogany-and-leather affair with a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the pitch. Without waiting for an invitation, he took a seat in front of what was clearly Fitzgerald's desk.

"My agent should be here for this," he said.

"Of course," agreed Fitzgerald, working around to his side of the desk and sitting. "You're represented by Taurus Swaine, correct?" Harry nodded. "I'll have an intern make a Floo call," he said, and before Harry knew it a paper airplane bearing that message was flying out the door.

"While we wait, let me ask you about your general interest level in the Tornados. What do you think of us, Harry?"

"Well, you're the defending league champions," Harry started slowly, not wanting to give too much away. "You've got this beautiful new stadium and one of the largest fan bases in the league. I'd be a fool to not be interested."

"Indeed," agreed Fitzgerald. The grin, never absent, grew wider. "Can I ask if you happen to be one of our fans?"

"I grew up with Muggles, so I don't really have a team," Harry answered truthfully. "My friend Ron tried to make me a Cannons fan, but…well…"

"Of course," said Fitzgerald smoothly. "And let me express my condolences for the horrific attack on Ron earlier this summer." The grin, oddly, never faltered.

Harry just gave a terse nod.

"Well, let me tell you a little bit about the Tornados…"

Harry zoned out as Fitzgerald dove into a spiel about the Tornados' finances and resources and why a career with their squad would be more fruitful than with any other team. He had heard one of these pitches from every team, and learned long ago where the right moments to grunt approval or nod appreciatively were. Luckily, Swaine arrived after only about five minutes, prompting Fitzgerald to cut his speech short.

"Taurus, you're here! How are you, old friend?" Grin.

"That would seem to depend on what sort of offer you've got for my client, Graem."

Harry didn't really think Fitzgerald's grin had any room to grow, but it seemed to anyhow. "Straight to business, then! I always appreciated that about you, Taurus.

"So. I'll be upfront with you Harry, my goal is to have you signed to the Tornados before you leave this office today. Now, we're all knowledgeable here, we all know that the top end of the market for you is going to be about three hundred thousand Galleons per. So how about I give you 310,000 Galleons for six years and we call it a day?"

"I don't know where your information is coming from, but I'm thinking the market will bear a lot more than that," Swaine scoffed.

"I disagree. But if you must be obstinate, I'll throw in a sweetener: thirty percent of the marginal increase in gate receipts."

"Not much of a sweetener," said Swaine. "You sold out every seat last year, gate receipts have nowhere to go but down. We'll talk hard Galleons, we'll talk percentages of overall receipts, and we'll talk royalties on merchandising, but we're not interested in anything that involves the word 'marginal.' Not with your team. And besides, I have it on good authority that a bidding war could push Harry's salary to five hundred thousand per, easily, plus _real_ sweeteners. You want to sign my client today, you're gonna have to give us a major incentive to pass on that kind of upside."

As far as Harry knew, the 500,000 number was pure bullshit. Fitzpatrick, though, seemed to eat it up. "Is that what it will take, then? Five hundred? Plus, say, five percent of gates? For six years?"

"Is that an offer?"

"Yes, it's an offer."

Swaine turned to Harry and rubbed his nose, the signal they'd agreed upon. Harry leaned forward in his chair and addressed Fitzgerald.

"You understand that the team will have to make certain allowances for my time."

"You're referring to your upcoming debut in the Wizengamot? Ennobled Quidditch players are rare, but not unheard of. We know how to work around that schedule."

"It's not just that," said Harry. "I'm in training with some people. Self-defense training. In case Death Eaters attack," he finished, awkwardly.

"I see," said Fitzgerald. Harry noticed that not even discussion of Death Eaters could make his grin falter. "Well, that's obviously very understandable. And obviously we'd prefer that our star Seeker not be kidnapped or murdered. So that's fine, we can work out those details. Is there anything else?" Harry decided this was probably the widest grins could possibly get.

_If everything goes to plan, Voldemort and I will be ruling the country within a year_. _I doubt very much I'll have any time for Quidditch then._ "No, sounds like we have a deal."

Fitzgerald grinned and offered his hand. Harry couldn't help it; he grinned too.

* * *

Half an hour later, Harry was sitting in Swaine's office discussing the deal they had just made.

"I don't know, Harry, that was the strangest negotiation I've ever seen," said Swaine.

"It _was_ strange," Harry agreed. "It was incredibly brief."

Swaine let out a snort at that. "That's not even the half of it," he said. "I mean, the way Fitzgerald just _accepted_ that _ridiculous_ 500k figure…it makes _no _sense."

"So, you weren't being serious?"

"_Merlin_, Harry, _no_. You're famous, and I think you'll be good, but _no one _is _that_ famous or _that_ good. It was a negotiating position, and a fairly outrageous one at that. I was trying to push the contract into the three-fifty range, I never _dreamed_…I'll tell you this much, my lawyers and I will be going over that contract with a fine-toothed comb before you sign it. There must be _some_thing…" Swaine continued to grumble under his breath, but then stopped and poured two healthy measures of Ogden's Old Reserve from the bar cart in the corner of his office. He handed one to Harry and then raised his own.

"Anyways, a celebration is in order. Congratulations Harry, you're about to sign the richest contract in the history of our league. I'd like to express my most heartfelt thanks to you for putting your faith in me to represent you, and I hope we can continue this partnership well into the future." They clinked Swaine's crystal tumblers and drank.

"You should probably expect a hearty 'thank you' gift from Viktor Krum's agent too," Swaine added. "This deal will probably raise his asking price by a solid hundred thousand Galleons per year."

Harry laughed. "Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you," he said, raising the tumbler once more.

Swaine lifted his in agreement, but stalled. "Whatever we did today," he said, a touch of darkness coloring his voice, "it wasn't business. I suspect something deeply personal is at work here, Harry. Something deeply personal indeed."

* * *

"Well, I think that's just about done it," declared Blaise, returning her wand to her pocket and stepping back to admire their handiwork.

"You don't think we've gone the slightest bit overboard?" asked Katie, sheathing her wand as well. Over the past several hours, the two of them had secured one of the unused bungalows on the guest island with every protection spell they could think of, along with several more spells that served no purpose other than make Wormtail miserable for the few hours he'd stay there. Blaise was particularly proud of a clever little ward she had come up with that would shoot Stinging Hexes at Wormtail if he stayed in one place for longer than two minutes: she justified it as a means to discourage him from trying to gnaw through the floor or walls in his Animagus form, but, well…

"No. Better safe than sorry, right?" Truthfully, they probably could have felt pretty secure when they spelled away the doors and windows of Wormtail's room and charmed the walls and floor to be diamond-hard, but it was a good opportunity for practice.

"Right," said Katie. She turned away from the house and gazed out over the beach, apparently deep in thought.

"Blaise," she began after a moment, with no small degree of trepidation. "You know I like you, right?"

"Um, yeah-" Blaise began, confused, but Katie was plowing ahead.

"I mean, you know that I've really enjoyed getting to know you, and I think you're great, and I don't ever want to accuse you of doing anything untoward, right? Because I don't think you're doing anything untoward." This was all said in the space of one breath.

"What's…what's happening here?" Blaise asked slowly, not comprehending but made more than a little anxious by Katie's behavior.

Katie hesitated again, then blurted, "What's that spell you keep putting on Harry? _Meminisse_. What does it do?"

Blaise cursed herself inwardly for not having been more discreet. It would have been so easy to just sneak away with Harry, pretend they needed a quick shag or something, and deal with the charm away from prying eyes. _Actually, a quick afternoon shag _would_ be rather…_Blaise started to think, but ruthlessly quashed that line of thought. This was a crisis, she needed to focus. Best to see how much Katie already knew.

"What do you think it does?" Blaise asked, careful to keep her tone light.

"Well, that's the thing, I just don't know," said Katie, who was still rushing through her words. "I mean, I've seen you do it twice, and I know enough Latin to know it's something to do with memory. And I had been planning on just looking it up when we go to Hogwarts in a couple days, but I just…" Katie sighed, finally slowing down enough to enunciate clearly.

"I just wanted to ask you first. I didn't want to just read about it in a book and assume the worst and start – I don't know – _suspecting_ you for no good reason. I-I'd like to think that we've become friends, and I want to trust you," she concluded.

Blaise weighed her options. _Meminisse_ existed in something of a gray area between legal-to-use charms affecting the mind and Memory Charms, use of which was restricted to Ministry-licensed Obliviators. So, the charm probably wouldn't be discussed anywhere in the general body of the Hogwarts library, but it probably wouldn't have been scrubbed from the Restricted Section either. Katie was going into her N.E.W.T. year, so she probably would not have too much trouble getting permission to access the Restricted Section. If she had any quality of research skills – and Blaise had no reason to doubt that she did – Katie would probably know everything about _Meminisse _within a week of returning to Hogwarts, sooner if she could come up with a plausible reason to just ask Flitwick about it. _I suppose lying's off the table, _Blaise mused. _An abridged version of the truth, then_.

"Thanks, I like to think of you as a friend too," said Blaise truthfully, smiling prettily. She paused, and Katie came in a couple steps closer to her, an expectant look playing on her face.

"_Meminisse_ does have something to do with memory," Blaise began. "It's a rather clever little charm that goes into your mind and, for lack of a better term, creates a link between two memories. It lies dormant on the first memory until someone tries to access that memory. When that happens, it redirects that access attempt across the link created by the charm, so that the person sees the second memory instead."

Katie frowned. "I don't think I understand," she said.

There was a pause while Blaise tried to think of a way to explain. "OK, so let's say you have two memories: one of you eating a chocolate frog, and another of you eating a licorice wand. If I cast _Meminisse _on you and link those two memories, then the next time a Legilimens goes into your mind looking for the memory of you eating the chocolate frog, all he'll be able to find is the memory of you eating the licorice wand. And it's only a one-way connection, so if he goes in looking for the memory of you eating the licorice wand, he'll get there without a problem. So, it's a subtle way of hiding a memory without completely obliterating it the way _Obliviate_ or some of the other spells affecting memory do. This makes it reversible, unlike other Memory Charms."

"I see. So does it affect the target too, or only invading Legilimens?" Katie asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"If you do the spell on me, and I try to remember eating the chocolate frog, will I be able to? Or will the charm redirect me to the licorice wand too?"

"Oh, no," said Blaise. "You'd be affected the same way."

"So what you're telling me is, you're memory charming Harry," Katie said, with a touch of frost in her voice.

"Well, no, it's not quite a memory charm…"

"No, it is," Katie insisted, now with a touch of heat. "While he's under the charm, his memory is wrong. He believes something untrue about the world. You're memory charming him."

"He knows everything about it, he agreed to it," Blaise defended. "Hermione and Tonks know everything too. There's nothing _nefarious_ going on."

"That's not my objection," said Katie. "I've seen you put this charm on him twice, both times when he was on his way out to that mysterious training he's doing; I don't think it's a stretch to assume you might be doing it every time he goes. Don't you think there's some sort of danger in this? Don't you think there's danger in holding someone under a memory charm for hours a day, every day, casting it and recasting it over and over again?"

"Of course not, the charm is reversible," Blaise insisted, lowering her voice to a cold hiss. "And in any event, the danger he'd be in if anyone found out what that charm's hiding - or even that he's under the charm - is more than you can possibly imagine, so keep your fucking mouth _shut_ about it. You only talk about this with one of the four of us, and you make damn sure we're alone if you do. Got it?" she finished aggressively.

"Of course," gasped Katie, who was wilting a bit in the face of Blaise's anger.

"Not good enough, we have to find some way…_fuck_ how could I have been so stupid," Blaise swore at herself. She paused, thinking feverishly.

"We need Hermione," she concluded. Blaise grabbed Katie's arm and dragged her back across the Atoll to the Combat Simulator, where Lupin was just starting to lead the group in a simulated kidnapping.

"Can I borrow Hermione for a minute, Lupin?" Blaise asked, interrupting his lecture on advanced glamour charms that all but eliminated the visual distortion that came with Disillusionment and other invisibility spells. "Katie and I need her expertise to put the finishing touches on our prison cell."

Lupin nodded his assent and Blaise grabbed Hermione just as she had Katie. As soon as the three were back out on the path back to the rest of the island, Hermione started in.

"What's going on," she began, "I know you don't ne-"

"Not until we're back in the villa," Blaise cut her off tersely. Hermione nodded and fell silent.

Before long, the three reached the suite Blaise shared with Harry. Without a word to the other two, Blaise whipped out her wand and, in a flurry of movement, had cast every privacy charm she knew.

"Blaise, wh-"

"Katie knows about _Meminisse_," she said flatly.

"_Shit._"

"I know."

"_Shit_, Blaise, this is a disaster! How could-"

"I _know_, that's why I went and got you," Blaise said with a touch of acid, although she couldn't help but be amused by how the normally very proper Hermione had been moved to profanity.

Hermione did not speak for several minutes, regarding Katie with what appeared to be very close scrutiny.

"Well, I suppose we should get the obvious stuff out of the way first," she said finally. "Katie, I don't suppose you know any Occlumency?"

"No, sorry," said Katie, and Hermione let out a groan of frustration. Blaise thought she knew what the Gryffindor was thinking: the two of them had had several conversations about how absurd it was that the general public wasn't trained in the Art.

"I suppose a regular Memory Charm is out of the question too," Hermione said to Blaise.

"Completely," she agreed. "They'd notice it almost immediately."

"The other memory charms are probably out as well…"

"Yeah, I don't think anyone on our side is a skilled enough Obliviator to do one of those. Certainly wouldn't want to have Katie be our Guinea pig for that, in any event."

"I'm sorry," said Katie, her hackles rising once again, "but could you tell me what's going on? Or at least talk about me as though you realize I'm right here in front of you? I've _promised_ not to tell anyone about charm you're using, why isn't that good enough? Why don't you trust me?"

Blaise and Hermione were a bit cowed by that. "Because of Legilimency," the blonde said, in a softer voice than she'd used all day. Katie's mouth formed a silent _oh_.

"Dumbledore and Snape are both Legilimens, and neither has many scruples about using that particular skill."

"So it's not a question of trust," said Hermione, gently picking up where Blaise had left off. "It's that this is the second or third most important secret that we have, and you don't have a means of defending it."

"I see," said Katie. "So what do we have to do?"

"The most effective way to avoid being Legilimenced is to avoid Legilimens," said Hermione. "Dumbledore is easy enough to avoid, he doesn't interact with students much…"

"Never mind Dumbledore, Snape is the biggest problem," snapped Blaise, her words coming out more aggressively than she had intended. "Do you take Potions," she asked Katie, who nodded. "Drop it," Blaise said flatly. "We can't have you in Snape's company that frequently."

"If she drops Potions, it'll be suspicious. Dumbledore will think she has something to hide."

"Better to keep her away from Snape and Dumbledore and let them think she has something to hide than to let them Legilimence her and know for sure exactly what she's hiding," Blaise argued.

"Well, why not just have her leave Hogwarts entirely then? Why expose her to any risk at all?"

"_Excuse me_," interjected Katie angrily. "But I can't leave Hogwarts _or_ drop Potions, it's my N.E.W.T. year. I have a little thing called _my future_ to worry about. I'm a half-blood, I _need_ those marks."

"No seriously, why have her go back to Hogwarts at all," Hermione continued as though Katie had not spoken. "I was being snarky before, but seriously. There's no way to keep her safe there; all it could take is one fleeting bit of eye contact at a meal and Snape could know everything."

Blaise mulled this over. "There'd have to be some plausible reason she could give, or else we wouldn't have accomplished much," Blaise thought aloud. "Worse, if there isn't a plausible excuse, it could tip Dumbledore off that Harry's gathering allies among the students, which would almost certainly bring scrutiny down on all of our people. The D.A. would be the first people Dumbledore looked at, and I'm the only one of us that wasn't in that."

"So let's have Harry pull some strings to get her a job offer, one she couldn't reasonably turn down," said Hermione dismissively. "Or, better yet, have your father do it to keep Harry's fingerprints off of it. What do you want to after graduation, Katie?"

"Something important and challenging enough to require N.E.W.T.s," ground out Katie. "I want to _be_ something."

"You can always take your N.E.W.T.s later," said Blaise. "Or do independent study this year and register to take them with everyone else."

"An externship!" exclaimed Hermione. "Blaise, can your father get Katie an externship in the Department of Mysteries? A part-time position there with the promise of a job on graduation if her N.E.W.T.s are up to snuff, that's got to be a plausible reason to leave Hogwarts, right?"

Blaise agreed and ran with the idea. "He could assign her to 'work personally' with him, then just let her live back here, study, and keep Harry and the other Chasers company…"

"_Excuse me_," Katie began hotly again, but Hermione cut her off.

"Honestly Katie, you have to understand that _nothing_ is more important than keeping this secret. _Nothing_. And it's not like we're talking about locking you up or doing anything else horrible to you, we're talking about giving you an opportunity a lot of people would kill for.

"I really like you, Katie," Hermione continued. "And I _promise_, we're going to do everything in our power to ensure your future isn't compromised. But this secret is _huge_, it would endanger lots of lives if it got out, not least of which would be Harry's."

"And if all else fails," said Blaise, smirking, "I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to convince Harry to give you a few million Galleons and leave you set for life without ever having to worry about a job."

"So, is this settled?" asked Hermione, giving Katie a stern look that seemed to dare her to make an objection. None was forthcoming; Blaise thought that Katie seemed like she had been stunned into silence.

"Good. You'll need to send an owl to McGonagall declaring your intention to withdraw straightaway," said Hermione in the business-like tone she adopted when she considered a problem solved. Katie nodded and made to leave the room, but Blaise stopped her.

"One more thing, Katie," she said, her voice laced with genuine regret. "I really do trust you, but we can't take any chances. I'm going to need you to take the Unbreakable Vow."

* * *

Harry Potter was not a religious person. At the Dursleys', Harry had only been exposed to Christianity in the form of an exorcist Vernon had called in at his first sign of accidental magic; the exorcist failed, obviously, and that was the end of the Dursleys' attempts to bring him into the faith. Still, Harry doubted would have believed even if he'd been forced to Sunday School every week. Growing up unloved and abused in a cupboard tended to detract from the idea of a just, caring God.

The magical world, of course, was determinedly secular. True, Hogwarts celebrated a feast on Halloween and took breaks at Christmas and Easter, but the holidays had been stripped of all their traditional Christian and Pagan meanings. Surely, most of the Muggle-borns and some of the others retained a belief in a super-supernatural power that was the source of their magic; some of the more committed ones even thought that power might cast judgment on souls entering the afterlife. But just as sure was the fact that virtually no wizards maintained faith in prophets or the organized religions they spawned. Part of the reason for this was the simple fact that the thousand years between the fall of Rome and the invention of the Flame-Freezing Charm – that millennium of unyielding church-sponsored campaigns of terror that forced magical society into the shadows – left a rather indelible stain on religion's name. But more to the point, religious faith was simply antithetical to wizardry. Wizards were the ultimate humanists, perfectly convinced they had the power to do anything at all they set their minds to. Why put your faith in God or a prophet when virtually any problem could be solved with a few flicks of a wand or – at _worst_ – a few hours in front of a cauldron?

Nevertheless, "prayer" really might be the best word to describe Harry's thoughts as he sat on a bench in the corner of Voldemort's throne room, concealed by the Invisibility feature of his Lord Gaunt outfit. Tonight was the night that Voldemort would introduce him to the whole body of Death Eaters, and though Harry relished the thought of finally taking his rightful place beside the Dark Lord, he knew tonight would not be easy. If Bellatrix' loyalty had been insufficient to prevent her from voicing her displeasure at his appointment, it stood to reason that there would be at least one Death Eater tonight who would do the same. He would have to kill that Death Eater, slowly, messily, and with sufficient ease to prove to the rest that his authority was not to be trifled with.

Harry really hoped he wouldn't have to. Killing Vernon or Wormtail – whom Harry was looking forward to disposing of as soon as he got back to the Atoll – was one thing, but this…killing just to establish dominance…

_And one of our own, too_, Harry lamented. What if the objector was a useful soldier like Jugson or Dolohov, or a useful political figure like Thicknesse or Runcorn? _So senseless, this violence. So counterproductive. But alas, if I'm to be the Dark Lord's 'equal,' I must be equal in the mind of the Death Eaters too. I've killed for worse reasons than immortality…_

At that moment, there was a great series of cracks as the Death Eaters arrived in the throne room. They began chatting among themselves, blissfully ignorant of Harry's presence among them. _The Dark Lord should arrive in just about thirty seconds, then_, Harry thought. He feverishly returned to his prayer.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the Atoll group popped into existence in the Wormtail's cell. Harry was shaken to the core but doing his best not to show it. No fewer than five Death Eaters had felt the need to challenge his authority.

"Hello Wormtail," said Harry, stepping forward toward the man, who was lying on the stone slab Blaise had conjured as a bed. The rest of the group, all their identities concealed from Wormtail by their hooded cloaks, filled out around the sides of the cell. It was a legitimately terrifying sight, all those harsh triangular green "eyes" glaring menacingly out from the darkened hoods.

"Lord Gaunt, please let me explain!" Wormtail cried, hauling himself off the slab as quickly as he could and prostrating himself at Harry's feet.

"Yes, please _do_ explain, Wormtail," Harry said, his voice coming out in a mocking hiss. "How is it that after I explicitly ordered you not to use any lethal spells, you decided to use the Killing Curse? Inquiring minds wish to know."

"I-I-I," Wormtail spluttered. "I wanted to show I'm a good wizard! I wanted to prove my worth! I wanted to show you how useful and strong I can be!"

"By disobeying a direct order? By endangering the lives of my men?" Harry employed the mocking hiss again.

"The dog was obviously a Transfiguration! I wanted to show you that I couldn't be so easily fooled!"

"And if one or more of my men had been invisible, using the dog as cover to slip into the wards undetected?"

Wormtail paled at that.

"Please, my Lord, have mercy!" he begged. "All I have ever wanted is to please you and serve you! Please…please…" Wormtail broke down, sobbing.

Harry stared down at the crying man impassively, waiting for the display to be over. "Get back up on the bed, Wormtail," he said coolly when the sobs subsided into sniffles.

"Please, Lord Gaunt…please don't send me back to the Dark Lord! I'll do anything!"

"Don't worry, I won't be sending you back to Voldemort," said Harry, sending Wormtail into a paroxysm of gratitude. The rat scrambled back down from the bed and threw himself to his knees in front of Harry, kissing his shoes and clutching the hems of his robes.

"Wormtail, look at me," Harry commanded. "I want you to know who I really am."

Wormtail looked up, and as he did so Harry lowered his hood and shook out his hair so that his scar stood out in clear relief on his forehead. Wormtail could only gasp.

"Get back up on the bed and lie flat," Harry commanded. Wormtail was too stunned to even consider disobedience.

Harry flicked his wand, and suddenly Wormtail was clad only in his graying briefs. Another flick, and the Death Eater's extremities were tied down to the slab.

"I'm going to transfigure your gall bladder into a rat," Harry said, his voice betraying no emotion. "It will be extremely confused and find breathing to be extremely difficult, and so it is going to try to chew its way out of you."

Wormtail began screaming and crying, but Harry continued to talk over him. "If you're lucky, maybe it will make its way to your heart or lungs and you can die somewhat quickly. Maybe you'll be less lucky and die slowly of internal bleeding. Maybe the rat will make its way out of you or die before it can cause any lethal injuries, and you'll die even more slowly of infection, dehydration, or starvation. I don't know, I've never done this before."

Harry paused, and pretended to think about something. "I find that I don't really care. Goodbye, Peter."

"NO, Harry, _please_!" screamed Wormtail, struggling against his bonds. "I owe you a life-debt! I can be useful! Show mercy, please!"

Harry's eyes flashed. "When my parents put their faith in you, you repaid them by giving them over to Voldemort to die. When I showed you mercy back in my third year, you used your second chance at life to murder Bertha Jorkins, murder Cedric Diggory, and resurrect Voldemort. And even today, when I was prepared to look past the incredible evil you've worked, and give you a chance to help my team and die a quick, painless death when you'd outlived your usefulness, you disobeyed my rules and endangered the lives of my people.

"So no, _fuck you_, you've used up the last of my mercy," Harry seethed, finally letting his hatred show. "You're going to die cold, alone, humiliated, and in excruciating pain, eaten from the inside out by one of your own."

He raised his wand. "Say 'hi' to my parents, you fucking traitor." Harry executed his wand movement and a lump appeared in the traitor's midsection. Immediately, the lump started to wriggle and thrash, causing Wormtail to begin screaming in earnest. Satisfied, Harry nodded to the rest of the group. As one, they activated their portkeys and left Wormtail to suffer alone.

* * *

Sometime around 3 a.m. that night, Katie slunk into the island's main villa and found her way to Hermione's room. As quietly as possible, she killed the light on the end of her wand and crept in. The bedrooms in the villa were much more like suites or apartments than traditional bedrooms: grand affairs done in creamy whites and tiki wood with their own lounges, bathrooms, and wide balconies overlooking the beach in addition to the generous sleeping space. Katie made her way through Hermione's lounge, which of course had been outfitted as a miniature library, and into the sleeping area.

Katie's breath caught in her throat as she came in and made sense of the scene in front of her. Hermione was nearly nude, clad only in her knickers, curled up into the chest of a similarly attired Seamus Finnegan, the sheets strewn haphazardly at the foot of her beautiful canopy bed. Katie was shocked. Everyone on the Atoll had noticed the growing chemistry between the two Gryffindors, but _no one_ suspected that things had gone this far. _Glad I decided to leave it until this late_, Katie thought with a blush. _Merlin knows I wouldn't want to have come in an hour or two ago._

Still, Katie was here for a reason and wouldn't be deterred by Seamus' presence. Doing everything in her power to avoid waking the boy, she worked her way around to Hermione's side of the bed and lightly shook the girl's shoulder.

"Wh- wh-…_Katie_?" Hermione whispered harshly, her face flushing. "What are you _doing_, get _out_!"

"No, I'm sorry, I have to talk to you and Blaise," Katie whispered back. "Put on some clothes and meet me in the Library."

Katie crept back out and roused Blaise in the same fashion, though thankfully the Slytherin and Harry had been less embarrassingly clad than Hermione and Seamus had been. Hermione was already in the Library when Katie got there, and Katie had to endure a couple minutes of the younger girl's glare while she waited for Blaise to arrive.

"So, care to tell us just why the _fuck_ you've decide to rouse us at this ungodly hour," Blaise griped as soon as she walked in. Blaise had never been one for being woken up early. "And why the _bloody hell_ it couldn't have waited until _morning_."

Katie was sorely tempted to cheerfully inform Blaise that it technically _was_ morning, but one look at the blonde's face was enough to dispel that idea. "Look, I have to tell you guys something," she began. "I wasn't totally honest with you earlier today."

Hermione's glare hardened.

"I actually had heard of _Meminisse_ before today," she continued, starting to rush through her words again. "Actually, I've been researching it for a couple weeks, ever since the first time I saw you use it."

"_What_ is your _point_," growled Blaise.

"Well, I," Katie steadied herself with a deep breath. "I wonder if you've read _this_, and how you've gotten around it." Katie produced a leather-bound book entitled _Magics of the Mind_, opened it to the page she'd marked, and pointed at the paragraph in question. Blaise and Hermione leaned in to read:

_**A note on usage:**__ The _Meminisse_ Charm_ _is primarily intended to be used either in the very short term – such as to defeat a single test by Veritaserum – or to be placed on the subject permanently. It is not recommended that a person be placed under and subsequently released from the charm regularly, as this will often produce severe disorientation and cognitive dissonance in the subject. In extreme cases, constant reapplication of the _Meminisse _Charm has induced a form of Dissociative Identity Disorder as the subject's brain creates an entirely new personality based on the altered memory and the subject's experiences while operating under the Charm. In the worst cases, this secondary identity has taken on a life of its own and competed with the 'real' identity for control, sometimes successfully._

Hermione looked up from the passage, glaring daggers at Blaise. "You said it was safe," she hissed. "You _promised_ it was safe."

"I-I thought it was," stuttered Blaise, shock etched all over her face. "I read everything in my family library about _Meminisse_, it didn't say anything about this…"

"_You swear that_," raged Hermione, drawing her wand. "You swear on your magic right now that you had no idea, or so help me I'll-" but Hermione never got to complete her threat as Blaise made the oath and then pointedly conjured a bouquet of roses.

"OK, good," said Hermione, deflating a bit. "I'm sorry Blaise, it's just-"

"It's OK, I understand."

"What do we do, though?" Hermione asked, biting her lip. "This is _really bad_."

"Well, we shouldn't jump to conclusions," said Blaise, bracingly. "Like I said, I've read a _ton_ of literature on _Meminisse_ and never seen this before. Did you read this anywhere else, Katie?"

Katie shook her head.

"OK, so our first order of business has to be figuring out if what this book says is true."

"But what if it _is_ true," insisted Hermione. "We should stop putting it on him right away."

"And have him do _what_, Hermione?" Blaise exploded. "Go with his mind unprotected? Stop going altogether? It would ruin _everything_."

"We've said from the start that the plan might not work, we've always considered backups and alternatives," said Hermione. "And Blaise, the risk in this plan is just unacceptable, we can't have Harry go _insane_, Dumbledore will have been right!"

"We don't know that he'll go insane," Blaise argued. "And we can't call the whole thing off just because one book says there's a risk, too much is in motion already…Harry had his Introduction tonight for Merlin's sake! Think about the resources we'd be giving up, think of how much we have invested!"

"But-"

"Hermione, Harry killed two perfectly innocent Muggles for this plan, can you imagine telling him we have to abandon it? The guilt would tear him apart."

"_What_?" exclaimed Katie.

"Nice going, Blaise," said Hermione acidly. "Why don't we just tell her everything?" Blaise had the grace to look abashed, but Katie was tired of standing on the sidelines of yet another conversation.

"No, I don't think she even has to, I think I can work it out for myself," said Katie, thinking aloud. "Harry goes out for training every day, and you're putting the charm on him every day before his training, and taking it off every evening when he gets back. That along with what Blaise just said strongly implies that you're using _Meminisse _to hide something from his trainer. And if you're hiding something from the trainer, it stands to reason that the trainer is both a skilled Legilimens and not someone that any of you trust, or even someone you could ask to take an oath not to divulge Harry's secrets as you've done with me. In that case, it's almost certainly not Blaise's father, or anyone among the Unspeakables closely aligned with Blaise's father. In fact, that means it's probably not an Unspeakable at all, because why would an Unspeakable who wasn't Blaise's father or a close ally agree to training Harry for multiple hours a day?

"So, if it's not an Unspeakable," Katie continued, as Hermione and Blaise watched with rapt attention and nervous expressions, "then it must be someone who you don't want the rest of us to know about, because you went along with it when Neville blurted that theory out instead of telling the truth. That would probably rule out Aurors and probably other defectors from the Order of the Phoenix as well."

Katie paused here and cast about in her mind for more evidence. "Given the level of magic Harry has been showing us, it's clearly someone extremely powerful and experienced. From the way you were just talking about it, it seems like continuing the training with this person is specifically important to the plan to defeat Voldemort…"

Katie paused again, thinking furiously, a look of horror dawning on her face. "Harry had an 'Introduction' tonight and came back looking like Death warmed over. Blaise said he's been killing Muggles. Our insignia has a skull and a snake…" Katie trailed off, eyes wide. She stared directly into Hermione's eyes.

"Please tell me I've gone wrong somewhere," she whispered. "Please tell me Harry isn't being trained by _Voldemort_."

Hermione flinched, and that was all the confirmation Katie needed. She sank into one of the chairs, gasping and clutching at her chest. Hermione whirled around in anger and let into Blaise.

"Are you happy now?" she snarled. "You just couldn't keep your mouth shut could you?"

Blaise was dumbstruck. "I never thought…" she started, but trailed off into nothingness.

"Yes, _that's_ _the problem_, Blaise, you never think!" Hermione raged. "You're so convinced of everyone else's incompetence that you never give them credit for being able to put the pieces together, never think anyone can see through your oh-so-clever doubletalk and evasions."

"We've gotten off topic," said Blaise, recovering. "Katie figuring out what's going on doesn't change the fact that Harry needs his training, and Voldemort and the Death Eaters are too powerful an asset to give up just because of what one book says."

"There are things we can do to stop him going mad," said Hermione. "We can make sure he goes to a therapist, maybe even a psychiatrist if things start to get bad. We can do everything we can by ourselves to keep him grounded in the real world."

"And if that's not enough," asked Katie, leaning forward in her chair. "What do we do if despite all of our best efforts, the Voldemort-influenced personality takes over?"

"_It won't happen_," insisted Blaise.

"But what if it _does_?"

The group fell silent for a long, extremely awkward moment. Finally, Hermione spoke up, her voice low and broken.

"Then we'll have to kill him ourselves."

* * *

**Author's** **Note: ** Whew! By far the longest chapter thus far, hope you enjoyed it! I'll publish more in-depth notes on my blog on Wordpress, so be sure to check that out! Once again, go to my profile for the link, this site is very good at blocking my attempts to get around their filters. Let's move right along to review responses!

To **caffienatedlackey: **Thanks! I think this chapter brought into focus a lot of what's going on, and certainly illuminated what the major conflicts of the story are going to be, but I think you'll appreciate that we'll have some twists and turns yet! There have been hints as to what the amulet does - or at least, how it operates - but I don't think I'll let that cat out of the bag juuuuust yet. :)

To **Light Lord Cybergate:** I think you've misunderstood what's going on with Snape, although that's probably my fault, since a number of people had questions about him. To both Voldemort and Dumbledore, Snape is a double agent; each is aware that he's spying on them for the other. However, unlike in most stories, Snape's ultimate loyalty in this tale is to Dumbledore, because he is privy to the real prophecy and knows that Voldemort will die. But Harry doesn't know that, all he knows is that Snape is a double agent, and thus is uniquely dangerous because he's privy to information from both sides. If Harry could have killed Snape when he abducted Wormtail, he would have. As for the rest of your review...well, let's just say you're on the right path, but not quite there. You'll see :)

To **Evil4Dummies:** Thanks for the kind words! In response to your question about Luna, we are going to see her again (half the cast is returning to Hogwarts next chapter!) but I don't think she'll be a major character. Much like with Hedwig, I don't think I have very much faith in my ability to write a good Luna, and there's nothing that annoys me more in stories than a poorly-written Luna.

To **Vilkath:** Thanks! Yeah, I don't think I'll be writing any true lemons in this story...they don't serve much purpose imho. That said, I'm glad you appreciate the way Blaise and Harry's relationship is going, it's gratifying to know there are other people out there who think the same way I do about these things. And yes, it's always hilarious how slut!Hermione snap-turns into prude!Hermione when she gets involved with Harry haha. I hope you enjoyed the development with her and Seamus in this chapter. This is a tropical paradise with a coeducational group of teenagers...sex is going on. fwiw, there are other relationships on the island besides Harry/Blaise and Hermione/Seamus, but they haven't been mentioned yet because they don't advance the story.

To **Akuma-Heika:** Yes, at least some of the rumors about Blaise are true. Harry is not her first. And yes, only 12 members of the former D.A. have signed on with Harry, although they are also being assisted by Lupin, Moody, Shacklebolt, and others as time goes on. They will also try to recruit from the D.A. at Hogwarts, but frankly they don't need a large force. The Atoll group are being used only for stealth missions, they don't need to be a force for large battles. The Death Eaters will be the cannon fodder.

**Frequently Asked Question:** _Why is Blaise a girl? Isn't she supposed to be a black boy that's bffs with Draco?_

_-_I think I've answered this before, but I'll give it another shot. The only canon that RotA accepts is OotP and before. At that point in canon, _nothing_ about Blaise's character had been established, not even his gender. I chose to make Blaise a girl because: 1. the character I wanted to use had to be a pureblood Slytherin female in Harry's year; 2. I'd read pre-HBP stories with Fem!Blaise and enjoyed them; and 3. I preferred using Blaise to a more established character like Daphne Greengrass because she was such a blank slate. If you really do have a problem with Blaise and can't get past it, just pretend I'm saying "Daphne" every time I say Blaise, you'll be fine.

Anyhow, that's all for here! Remember to check out my Wordpress blog Supremo Stories, for more thoughts on RotA and everything else Harry Potter related. Also, follow me on twitter Supremostories!

Until next time,

Lord Supremo


	14. Back to Hogwarts

**Author's Note: **And the train goes on! Please be sure to leave reviews! Please be sure to check out my Wordpress blog "Supremo Stories" (see profile for the link)! Please be sure to follow me on twitter, my handle there is Supremostories! Thanks so much!

Disclaimer: The owner of Harry Potter participated in the Opening Ceremony of the Olympics this summer. I watched the Opening Ceremony on tape-delay and defended its awesomeness against haters on an internet forum. Infer what you will.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Back to Hogwarts

"Are you okay, Blaise? You seem a little out of it."

_What a question_. Actually, no, it wasn't a very good question at all. Blaise was most assuredly _not_ okay. _Harry must know it_, she thought. But how could she possibly explain the turmoil in her mind, the crushing guilt, the despair she felt. _Oh, it's nothing, Harry, I'm just a little upset because I made a pact with your best friend to kill you if you go insane from this memory charm I've been using on you. Nothing to be bothered about, really._

Blaise shared a glance with Hermione, who winced and looked away quickly, obviously knowing exactly what was running through her mind. Blaise gave a slight frown. They couldn't give off obvious signs like that, Harry would catch on that something was up very quickly.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she lied.

"It's just a little weird, going back to school and all," she added, because she had to say something. That part wasn't untrue; the problems associated with returning to Hogwarts had been pressing at her for over a week, only taking a backseat in her consciousness in the past few days since she made the pact. But now, walking through the mall-like retail center of King's Cross Station, just a half hour removed from the departure of the Hogwarts Express, it occurred to her that perhaps she should reprioritize her thoughts once again.

"Ah, yeah, definitely," said Harry. "It's weird to be here today and not be going back myself." He paused, then continued with what sounded like some determination.

"Actually, can I talk to you about that? Alone?" he asked, with a hesitant glance at Hermione.

"I'll give you some time," said Hermione gently. "Just remember, we have to be getting to the platform soon." Hermione cut left across the walkway and ducked into the Waterstone's to browse, while Blaise and Harry sought out an open bench.

"So, about Hogwarts," Harry began once they were seated. "What does that mean for us?"

"What do you mean," asked Blaise, somewhat nonplussed.

"We haven't really given our relationship any kind of label," Harry said. "I mean, obviously we've publicly said that we're dating, but that was all before we were actually…you know…and I just wanted us to be clear about what our expectations are."

_Oh_, thought Blaise, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. For all the time she had spent worrying about the House politics in Slytherin, using the D.A. as a cover for continued training and recruitment, keeping Hermione safe from Dumbledore's Legilimency, and the multitude of other issues she'd have to navigate at Hogwarts, she'd somehow never even spared one thought for what would become of her relationship with Harry.

"I mean, I don't really know how you see us," Harry continued, with the air of someone who had been longing to say this for a while. "I don't know if we're supposed to be just friends with benefits, or if you think of me as a long-term, exclusive boyfriend, or if we're somewhere in between. So I don't know if you expect me to stay faithful and write you long tender missives every night and come visit every Hogsmeade weekend, or if you're planning on trying to shag other people as soon as you get to school and expect me to do the same."

"Well, what would you like us to be?" Blaise asked, mostly to buy herself thinking time.

Harry paused in thought, and then appeared to choose his words carefully. "I don't really know," he said. "I like you a lot as a person. I certainly care about you a great deal. I – well, I think you're bloody well brilliant in bed and wouldn't want to give that up for good," he said with a blush.

"I don't know, I mostly just want whatever you want," he concluded. "I would very much like to stay with you if you'll keep putting up with me for a while longer, but I don't want to force you to be with me if you don't want to. I also know that the distance and separation are going to be hard, I know there are probably going to be guys at Hogwarts that you'll be attracted to, and if I'm honest, I know that there will be women around me that I'll be attracted to as well. They're not you, and I would gladly ignore them if that's what you want, but, you know, it has to be what you want."

Blaise sat in silence for a moment. _I would very much like to stay with you if you'll keep putting up with me for a while longer, but I don't want to force you to be with me if you don't want to_. Not the most romantic thing a guy had ever said to her. But despite the lack of flowery language or sentiment, Blaise recognized the respect Harry had for her. This was not a man who viewed her as some sort of property, as so many purebloods in his station would. She realized that his attitude was not one of indifference, but rather a simple desire to put her needs above his own. This sort of selflessness was one of Harry's most endearing qualities.

But what to do with that information? Harry was right, the separation would definitely be very hard on them. Blaise thought Harry was probably overstating the temptation that she would face at Hogwarts – in the two years she'd been on the dating scene, she'd found most Hogwarts boys to be lacking in one regard or another – but she knew for Harry it might be unbearable. Quidditch players, like professional athletes everywhere, were propositioned constantly. Add on top of that the fact that Harry was perhaps the most eligible bachelor in Wizarding Britain to start with and Blaise knew it was extremely unrealistic to expect him to stay loyal while she was at school. She didn't want to lose what they had though, so really there was only one solution.

"Let's see how things go," Blaise told him. "We're going to stay in touch and see each other anyway. Let's just say we can have some fun when we see each other, but when we're apart, well, we're apart."

"Like an open relationship? You're really okay with that?" he asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

"I am," Blaise decided. "I know what's realistic, I know you're going to have witches throwing themselves at you every game day, every time you go out with the team…really, every time you leave the house. And even when you're at home, the Chasers are going to be there, Tonks will be there…I'd much rather just let you do what you will than spend a lot of time worrying about it."

Harry seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded his acceptance. "Alright," he said in an affected voice, standing and offering his hand. "That's a deal, then."

Blaise stood up with him, laughing at his antics. She playfully swatted away his hand and drew him in for a deep kiss.

"I'm going to miss you," he murmured when they finally broke apart. "The Atoll is going to be a fairly lonely place without you and the others around."

"The Chasers and Tonks will still be there," she reminded him gently. "And besides, you're going to be too busy to be lonely anyhow. Come on, let's find Hermione and get to the platform."

They found Hermione still in the Waterstone's, biting her lip as she tried to choose between two new political books on the non-fiction bestsellers table; from her posture, Blaise could tell that Hermione had been standing there agonizing over this decision for several minutes. Harry cut short Hermione's deliberations by simply buying both for her and saying she could decide between them on the train.

The three moved quickly toward the platforms, then paused outside the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. They had decided it made the most sense for Harry to say farewell on the Muggle side of the barrier and have the girls stagger their arrival on the magical side before taking the train in separate compartments; they knew Dumbledore was aware that Blaise and Hermione had spent at least part of the summer with Harry as individuals, but there was no reason to confirm to any prying eyes that they had any relationship beyond their mutual acquaintance.

Blaise stood respectfully aside as Harry and Hermione hugged and exchanged cheek-kisses as they said farewell. In truth, Hermione was another large factor in Blaise's comfort with being in an open relationship with Harry. The Chosen One might have sex with any number of other women, but Blaise was reasonably sure Hermione was the only other person with whom Harry might form the sort of deep romantic attachment that could threaten her status. Or, even if Harry did develop real feelings for another witch, that woman would certainly feel very threatened by Harry's closeness with the brainy Gryffindor. Eventually the new girl would give Harry an ultimatum and Blaise had no doubts about who would get the short end of the stick in that scenario. Cho Chang had learned this lesson the hard way.

For her part, Blaise didn't mind Harry and Hermione's closeness at all; in fact, she rather enjoyed it, as Hermione's advice and perspective often prevented Harry from engaging in the kinds of teenage boy-ish behaviors that had turned Blaise off from so many of her other Hogwarts classmates. Moreover, Blaise did not expect Harry to be her life-partner, so what did she care if there was another girl out there to whom he might eventually be better suited? As long as she got her share of him, Blaise was fine.

The Slytherin watched as Hermione finally departed and disappeared through the barrier. As soon as the brunette was gone, Blaise sidled up to Harry in the sexiest way she knew and engaged him in an incredible kiss that made not a few of the surrounding Muggles stop and stare.

"First Hogsmeade weekend, then?" Harry asked when they parted, voice slightly breathless.

"I guess so," she sighed, the reality of being without Harry for a month or two truly hitting her for the first time. "Although if you ever feel the need to sneak in through one of those secret passages…"

He smirked. "I might just do that." He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath.

"Five minutes. You should probably get going and find your compartment," Harry said with a sad smile.

Blaise nodded. She gave him one more brief peck on the lips and then, before he could say another word, stepped forward and melted into the barrier.

* * *

Harry felt a powerful wave of loss wash over him as he watched Blaise go through to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He cursed himself for his cowardice. How hard would it have been to be honest? Why couldn't he have simply told her what he actually felt, how an open relationship was the absolute last thing that he wanted.

_Well, not the _absolute_ last thing_, he mused. Being in an open relationship with Blaise was better than no relationship at all.

_But still_.

There was no time to dwell on his feelings for Blaise though, he was already late. Harry dipped into a stall in the men's bathroom to change into his Gaunt cloak, then flushed the toilet to mask the pop of his Apparition.

* * *

Harry reappeared outside the massive double doors leading to the grand Malfoy Manor parlor room Voldemort had designated for meetings with his inner circle of Death Eaters. Harry paused and composed himself for a moment, then blew open the entrance with as much magic as he could muster. The imposing and ornately carved oak doors slammed violently into the marble walls, startling everyone inside. Harry stood dramatically framed in the entryway for just a moment before sweeping into the room as imperiously as he could manage. Harry always felt a bit ridiculous doing things like this, but Voldemort had lectured him long and hard on the importance of employing theatrics whenever possible. Modest mastery might be sufficient behind the scenes in the political arena, but as an aspiring Dark Lord, it was important to be as imposing as possible at all times.

"Ah, Lord Gaunt, I'm glad you've seen fit to join us," said Voldemort.

"My apologies. I got caught up trying to hunt down the rest of your nose and lost track of time," Harry returned.

A ripple of fear made its way quickly through the Death Eaters, who seemed split between wanting to watch Voldemort for his reaction and simply wanting to hide. The only person who had ever spoken to the Dark Lord that way had been some foolish member of the Order captured early on in the first war. His life had been forfeit anyway, but Voldemort had been so enraged by the disrespect that he used the _Imperius_ curse to force the man to cut off and eat small pieces of his daughter while she was still alive and then kill himself by drowning in a tub of her blood. Only Bellatrix had been able resist succumbing to nausea that day and the incident eventually precipitated the first of the two Death Eater mutinies Voldemort had had to put down in that attempt at power.

On this occasion, however, no such carnage was forthcoming. Instead, Voldemort forced a half-grimace, half-smile and motioned for Harry to sit down.

"My Lord, I must protest!" exclaimed one of the Death Eaters, a pallid-faced man in his early fourties. "I cannot stand by while you are disrespected like that!" He stood and made a move to draw his wand, but Voldemort stopped him.

"Easy, Carrow," said the Dark Lord, his voice as placating as it could be but still carrying a hint of a threat. "It is not your place to question Lord Gaunt."

"My Lord, I-"

"Silence_, Death Eater_," thundered Harry. "I have tolerated your insubordination long enough. Disrupt this meeting any further and you shall not enjoy the consequences."

Carrow's face flushed, but he seemed to think better of continued vocalization.

"My Lord, before you arrived, we were discussing our plans to take over the Ministry," said Bellatrix. Underneath his glamour charms, Harry smirked. This was his first time interacting with Bellatrix since he had tortured her; apparently she was eager to get onto his good side. "Jugson had just suggested using our asset in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to assassinate Minister Fudge."

Harry took his seat to Voldemort's left and considered this idea. "Why don't you explain further," he said, looking to Jugson. "Fudge hasn't been giving us too much trouble, has he? Seems like a waste of an asset."

Jugson, a bear of a man, wilted a little under Harry's gaze. "If we get Fudge, we can put our own guy in the Minister's office, and he can make sure the asset is not exposed," he said, not a little defensively. "We have the votes in the Wizengamot."

Harry stared a little longer. "To what end, though? So that we can rule from the shadows? I don't believe that's what I signed up for, nor you Jugson. And tell me, for _whom_ do you have the votes in the Wizengamot? Everyone in this room and most of our prominent allies outside of it are at least suspected of being Death Eaters, Dumbledore will stop at nothing to prevent our election."

"The votes in this room alone account for five percent of the Wizengamot," said a reedy man whose name Harry did not know. "Our other firm allies account for another twenty percent, and maybe another twenty percent of the votes can be persuaded to support anyone we want. Throw in the fact that a further ten percent of the votes are unaccounted for entirely, and we have an unbeatable plurality."

"Oh," said Harry in mock surprise. "So what's stopping us, then? Why don't we just use that bloc to create a co-Minister position, elect the Dark Lord and myself to those positions, and then have another vote to abolish the Wizengamot and vest all power in the co-Ministry? It seems the war could be over at the very next session."

"Well-"

"What your rosy outlook failed to account for is the fact that most of the allies you mentioned outside this room would instantly balk at the idea of us taking power so brazenly, or at all. _There is a reason_, Jugson, that the share of voting power in this room is only five percent, and not the forty-five percent you just cited. These are not Death Eaters, they are _noblemen_," he continued, sneering the last word. "They like the pureblood cause and will stand with you if the issue is restricting werewolves or keeping Mudbloods from owning businesses on Diagon Alley, but they have no desire to give up their power and live under our rule.

"Eliminating Fudge will succeed only in sending otherwise sympathetic purebloods running to hide behind Dumbledore's coattails, it would be the best thing that ever happened to the Order's coffers and political clout. We only can openly grab power through the Wizengamot once the pureblood Lords know they cannot safely oppose us," Harry concluded.

"So what would you have us do?" asked an oily Death Eater at the far end of the table. Harry made a mental note that he would need to ask Voldemort for the names of the inner circle before the next meeting. "Nothing?"

"We must take Azkaban," declared Voldemort. "It is imperative that we keep the DMLE's attention focused on protecting and Obliviating Muggles, and to do that, we need to get back the commanders we lost at the Department of Mysteries."

"And in the meantime, we work on softening opposition to a new Minister," said Harry. "We use our influence in the Ministry to move our people into key roles and marginalize those who would stand in our way. Those of you who are Lords will quietly float the idea of replacing Fudge with someone more sympathetic to our allies, and see where the resistance is. My team will ensure those resistant Lords know that there is no safety from us.

"Finally, my team will be hard at work on our number-one priority."

"What is that, my Lord?" asked Bellatrix, still eager to please.

Harry allowed himself a grin underneath his glamour charms. "Finding a way to kill Dumbledore."

* * *

"Thank you for coming to this special meeting of the Order of the Phoenix," said Albus Dumbledore, standing at his customary podium in the Great Hall. All of the members of the Order filled what was typically the Ravenclaw table, which had been rotated so as to be parallel to the Head table. Most of the group was looking up to him with unmasked curiosity.

"I know that you are all unaccustomed to meeting as one body," Dumbledore continued his prepared remarks. "And I know that I have frequently denied many of your requests to meet as one body in the past, citing security concerns. Please do not take this meeting as a repudiation of those statements. It is still my intention that the Order be compartmentalized to the greatest extent possible. However, I come before you today with news of such importance that I feel it must be imparted to you all at once. It is critical that all of you hear exactly the same thing so that there is no confusion among us, and that all of our actions are in harmony with our goals."

Dumbledore stopped and gazed around the group gravely, hoping to impress the seriousness of the upcoming news on everyone.

"Earlier this summer, I received intelligence indicating that Lord Voldemort had named a second-in-command, a heretofore unknown person rumored to have tortured Bellatrix Lestrange on Voldemort's orders. Last Wednesday, Voldemort introduced this person to the whole body of the Death Eaters as an equal styled 'Lord Gaunt.'"

There was an outbreak of muttering at this, which Dumbledore allowed to run its course. Finally, one voice broke through; it was Oliver Shearman, the leader of Dumbledore's coalition in the Wizengamot. "I'm sorry Albus, I just don't understand. An 'equal' to Voldemort? It makes no sense."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, it was extremely vexing for me as well. We're not quite sure if Lord Gaunt is actually an equal, or if our initial read that he is merely second-in-command was correct, but it cannot be denied that Voldemort regards him as crucially important. At his Introduction, our sources say that Gaunt killed five Death Eaters who questioned his authority, using magic of the most impressive kind. This is a real player.

"In that vein, let's go through what we know about Lord Gaunt. First, we know that his true identity is being hidden. He is not like Voldemort, who shows his face openly. Gaunt hides underneath a cloak with a hood that magically keeps his face in shadow; the only visible parts of him are two glowing green triangles where his eyes should be. Further, we are confident that 'Gaunt' is a pseudonym: the Gaunt family was an old pureblood line of which Voldemort is the last descendent, and we suspect that Voldemort gave him that name in honor of that lineage. No one by the name 'Gaunt' has passed through Hogwarts or any of the other magical schools in more than fifty years.

"Gaunt is known to have at least two lieutenants, names unknown, who wear the same outfit and are disguised in the same way that he is. Their cloaks are adorned with Gaunt's own insignia: a cobra wrapped around a skull. It is also believed that Lord Gaunt has a number of lower-level followers, although their number – and, for that matter, their existence - is unconfirmed. We also know that the lieutenants have been training with Bellatrix Lestrange this summer.

"In short, this Lord Gaunt is a major threat, not at all someone to be taken lightly. He is a powerful wizard, presumably trained by Voldemort himself. He has shown sadism, mercilessness, and a general penchant for violence on par with any other Death Eater." Dumbledore concluded his remarks and spread his arms, indicating that the floor was open.

"You're telling us that we have absolutely no leads on who this person really is," demanded Shearman. "None at all?"

Dumbledore had decided a while back that he would not reveal his suspicion that Lord Gaunt and Harry Potter were one and the same. After meeting Gaunt, Snape had completely reversed his previous conviction about the new Death Eater's identity. Some claptrap about how there was "no way a little snot like Potter" could carry an aura as chilling as Gaunt's. Dumbledore did not put too much stock in that reasoning; an Intimidation Ward woven into the fabric of the cloak would make a flobberworm wearing it seem imposing. What did give Dumbledore pause was the way Gaunt had been introduced to the Death Eaters: Voldemort had called him his "equal." The prophecy clearly stated that Potter was to be marked as the Dark Lord's _servant_. Furthermore, there was no evidence that Gaunt had been given the Dark Mark; in fact, the brand new insignia on Gaunt's cloak and the existence of his own power structure separate from the Death Eaters pointed in the exact opposite direction.

It was clear, though, that Harry was up to _something_. Even if he did not know the true prophecy yet, Harry would believe the false prophecy Dumbledore had shown him after the battle. Dumbledore knew that the Blacks maintained property all over the world to oversee their shipping empire; if Harry's intention was to defy the false prophecy and attempt to abandon his destiny, Dumbledore was sure he'd have left the country entirely. No, Harry was definitely plotting something, the only question was _what_.

But all of that was beside the point. Even if he were still completely convinced that Potter was Gaunt, Dumbledore would not tell the Order about it. In truth, he felt terribly for the boy, condemned by fate to evil and an early grave despite so much innate goodness and strength of character. The childhood he had sentenced Harry to, the manipulations he had wrought in Harry's life, the boy's death sentence, these were all more than sufficient punishments for whatever evil the child would do between now and the fulfillment of the prophecy, Dumbledore didn't see the need to tarnish the boy's image on top of everything else. Dumbledore resolved to do whatever it took to make Harry look like a hero to the end; he would be forever known to have martyred himself to destroy Voldemort. It was the least Dumbledore could do.

With these thoughts, Dumbledore denied any insight into the true identity of Lord Gaunt and fielded several other questions on auto-pilot. When the crowd seemed to run out of steam, he cleared his throat and resumed speaking.

"This is the beginning of Voldemort's endgame. Those of you who are in the Ministry or on the Wizengamot need to become extremely vigilant. It is not Voldemort's intention to collapse the Ministry entirely except as a last resort – if at all possible, he will seize power through legitimate institutions. This means that we need to work as hard as possible to keep our coalitions together in the Wizengamot, fill whatever vacancies we can in the Ministry with our people, and scrutinize everything that comes through either body for any way it could help Voldemort.

"Moreover, we need to become much more proactive than we have been in the past. We need to work with the Ministry to move Death Eaters someplace more secure than Azkaban, somewhere secret not guarded by Dementors. We need to do everything in our power to court assistance or neutrality from all variety of sentient magical species. Most of all, we need to become active assistants to the DMLE in discovering the identities of Voldemort's Inner Circle, and work to ensure the law freezing the Gringotts accounts of suspected Death Eaters passes when the Wizengamot reconvenes this month. I have a specific plan of action that I will go over with you all in your individual groups, but I think it important that we all have our eye on the big picture."

A round of applause greeted these words, and Dumbledore smiled appreciatively before raising his arms for quiet. The room stilled quickly; for many, this was just like being students one more. "Is there any other business that needs to be aired before we adjourn? The students will be arriving at Hogsmeade station in just a few hours and the staff and I still have some last-minute preparations to make."

There was a brief period of silence before Mrs. Weasley finally spoke up. "Just one more thing, Albus," she said, soberly. "What is being done about Harry? I can't bear to think of him spending all summer holed up in that awful old house all alone, and _now_ he's not even coming back to _Hogwarts_…" she trailed off, looking completely upset. "Is there really nothing you can do to fix your relationship with him?"

"Molly…" Dumbledore began in a placating tone, but Mrs. Weasley cut him off.

"It's just that I've barely heard from him _all summer_," she sniffed, "just once, I think, right after Ron…and Ginny and the rest of us, we're _so worried_, Albus. And now he's – he's _dating_ some _Slytherin_ and playing _Quidditch_…it's just not like him!"

"The dynamic between Mr. Potter and I is complex and strained," euphemized Dumbledore, still using the most calming tone he knew. "I honestly don't know what I could do to even things between us. We do have ways to stay in contact though. I'll be seeing him at the Wizengamot, of course, and I assume I can get a message through Ms. Zabini or Ms. Granger, should the need arise."

"But he's not _safe_, we have to do _more_!" Molly's voice was somewhere between a sob and a shriek now.

"Loath as I am to admit it," Dumbledore said, "Harry's defenses have proven impervious to all my best efforts to penetrate them; I have not even been able to detect the magical signatures of those living at Grimmauld Place. I too wish Harry would return to Hogwarts, but I cannot force him to."

In truth, Dumbledore had come to the conclusion that it was better that Harry was out of pocket. If he had joined Voldemort already, then the prophecy was on its way to fulfillment, and the world was one step closer to being freed from the Dark Lord's evil. Dumbledore had been silly to think that he could keep Harry weak indefinitely; and really, it didn't matter. Harry would kill Voldemort in some sort of prophecy-assisted fluke, and then Dumbledore would be right there to dispose of the boy before he could cause too much damage. What Harry did between now and then did not really matter; no matter what, he'd never acquire enough magical skill to defeat Dumbledore. The outcome of their final battle was pre-determined; it was simply a matter of cornering Harry somewhere he couldn't escape.

Dumbledore sighed silently underneath the rabble that had broken out among the Order and glanced over to Snape. The Potions Master met his gaze and Dumbledore pushed shallowly into his mind, just far enough into Snape's consciousness to allow communication.

_Are you ready for tonight?_

_ It is a waste of time, Headmaster_, Snape replied. _The girls know nothing useful; there is nothing useful to know._

_ Yes, yes, but are you ready?_ Dumbledore sent, dismissing Snape's objection.

_Always, Headmaster._

* * *

"So you're still not going to tell me what that was about, the other night?" asked Seamus. His tone was casual, but the slight tremor in his voice – along with the fact that this was at least the seventh time he'd brought it up – told Hermione that his attitude was anything but.

"I've told you, it was something private-"

"-between you and Katie, yes, I know," finished Seamus, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

"Yes, Seamus, _it was something private_," she emphasized, getting exasperated herself. "_Private_, as in, 'I'm not going to tell you what we were talking about, because it was _private_.'" Hermione turned and looked pointedly out the compartment window, staring unseeingly at the landscape whirring past.

"Well, I mean," Seamus sputtered. "How often does Katie come into your room at three in the morning to 'discuss something private?'"

Hermione turned back from the window and stared at Seamus, completely nonplussed. "What?"

"I mean…" Seamus trailed off, looking embarrassed. "She seemed pretty comfortable just coming into the room without knocking, and with you…well…_in that state of dress_, shall we say…"

Hermione just goggled at him. _Surely he can't be suggesting…_

"It's just," Seamus continued, growing steadily redder, "I don't _mind_, you know? I don't want you to think you have to hide things from me…"

_Oh dear Merlin, he _is_ suggesting…_

"…and I want you to know that I accept you for who you are-"

"Let me stop you right there," snapped Hermione, more annoyed than she had been in quite a while. "You are…I can't even begin to describe how far off base you are if this is going where I think it's going. I suggest you drop it." Hermione hoped her tone would make clear that this was not a suggestion at all.

"Oh," said Seamus, visibly deflating. "It's just, I mean, I just thought…" the Irish teen was visibly conflicted between continuing his train of thought, shutting up, and fleeing the compartment entirely. Hermione put on her best glare in an effort to encourage either of the latter two options, but instead it seemed to strengthen Seamus' resolve.

"I just thought that if the two of you _were_…you know…then maybe we could, that is, the three of us…" Seamus' voice died as Hermione, unable to maintain the glare, buried her face in her right palm.

"Seamus," she ground out slowly, her voice slightly muffled by the heel of her hand, "I think it might be best if you went and found Dean."

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I-"

"_Now!_"

Seamus scampered out into the train's corridor, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, and dashed up the train to where Dean was sitting with Neville, Parvati, and Lavender.

Hermione resumed staring out the window, massaging her temples. Why did every teenaged boy think every girl was a bisexual? How would Seamus have felt if she had asked him for a threesome with Harry? Hermione briefly wondered whether there was any such thing as pornography in the wizarding world and if it was as prevalent and accessible as in the Muggle world, and quickly came to the conclusion that _of course there was_. Wherever there were teenage boys, there was pornography.

Hermione supposed she should be at least a little bit thankful for Seamus' affinity for smut; she suspected that was what accounted for Seamus' assertiveness and confidence in bed, traits that had been oddly absent in Viktor Krum…

Hermione cringed as the memories of her fourth year came back to her: the dance, so perfect before Ron had ruined the night with his pigheadedness; the blazing row they'd had after Rita Skeeter's article came out; their painfully awkward – and just plain painful, for that matter – first time together. She became extremely distant toward Viktor for a long while after that night, before clinging to him like the most pathetic, angsty, stereotypical bildungsroman character ever written. _I would have stopped writing back, too_, she thought, shaking her head at her behavior in the month leading up to the Third Task and the novel-length letters she sent all through last year.

_You were fifteen years old_, she reminded herself sternly. _You were entitled to be an idiot_.

_Ugh, what am I doing_, she scolded herself. _Sitting alone on a train, feeling bad about things from more than a year ago…all because Seamus wanted to have a threesome? What would Blaise say about this?_

And then Hermione knew that she had to talk with Blaise before the train pulled into Hogsmeade. This would be the last opportunity she would have to hang around with the Slytherin girl completely safe from prying eyes. Such a chance was not to be wasted.

Hermione pulled out her wand and lightly tapped the small, three-stone platinum ring on her left pinky finger. This ring represented the proudest spellcasting of her life. It served much the same purpose as the D.A.'s charmed Galleons had last year, but with much greater functionality. Everyone from the Atoll wore one – the boys' were done in a more masculine style – and each could be used to contact any individual wearer, any group of wearers, or the entire group. When a message was received, the whole ring would grow warm and the two outer diamonds changed color to identify the sender: Harry's colors, for instance were green and gold. It was also possible to make the center stone glow red, indicating an emergency message that had to be responded to immediately. When the wearer took off the ring, she would find whatever message had been sent engraved on the inside. All of the rings were concealed from view by outsiders by a Fidelius charm, making the rings the most secure communication system Hermione had ever heard of. Such devices were necessary though, secrecy was imperative while they lived and plotted under Dumbledore's nose.

After just a couple minutes, Hermione heard the sound of her compartment door sliding back. The Gryffindor looked up and was pleased to see Blaise walking in, already changed into her Hogwarts uniform. Hermione marveled at her for a second before catching herself – the way Blaise could give shape to the notoriously figure-killing Hogwarts robes was simply unfair.

"Hey," Hermione smiled, determinedly fixing her deep brown eyes on Blaise's and _not_ on the way the girl's gray sweater formed around and accentuated her bust and slim waist.

"No Seamus?" Blaised asked with a trace of irony, sitting down across from Hermione.

"Ugh. You won't _believe_ what he said earlier…" Hermione began hotly, but Blaise cut her off.

"Wait. If we're having a bitch-about-boys moment, you know what we need first…"

Hermione gasped. "You _brought_ it?"

"The whole rack," Blaise smirked, reaching into her pocket and bringing out a miniaturized case. She put the case on the seat next to her, enlarged it, and opened the clasp. "What shall we go for this afternoon, the '74 Delacour Estate?" she asked, digging around in the case and producing a bottle and a pair of glasses.

"Obviously," Hermione agreed, accepting a glass and a healthy pour from Blaise. She swirled the magical wine, which required no aeration, and tilted her nose into the glass, inhaling deeply. The scent alone was intoxicating. "I can't believe you took Harry's whole collection," she giggled, finally taking a sip. "He'll be upset for sure."

Blaise dismissed this with a wave. "Harry's palate is about as refined as bubotuber pus. Good wine is utterly wasted on him. We would be remiss in our duties as connoisseurs if we allowed liquid gold like this to languish unattended or be consumed by those unable to appreciate it in all its glory."

Hermione just giggled again, and the girls launched into relaxed gossip and speculation about the men in their lives. Delacour Estate wines were renowned for a special charm the family had developed that allowed the drinker to quickly develop a mild, pleasant intoxication but never become completely or dangerously drunk no matter how much wine they consumed. Hermione and Blaise tested this charm to its limit, finishing three bottles of the rare vintage over the next two hours of the ride. This had been their customary post-training pastime on the Atoll, but it was still a rather well-lubricated pair who laid siege to the sweets trolley as it passed by and fell back into the compartment intent on gorging themselves.

"'schtiw kahnt beweefim," said Hermione through a mouth full of Cauldron Cake, sending her Slytherin counterpart into a fit of laughter. Hermione swallowed and tried again.

"I still can't _believe_ him," she got out this time.

"Wh-who, Seamus?" snorted Blaise, unsuccessfully trying to tame her mirth.

"_Yes!_" Hermione exclaimed.

"What, for asking for a threesome? You know guys like to fantasize about that," Blaise said sagely, her voice an octave deeper than normal from the wine.

Hermione waved her off. "No, _that's_ not what I have a problem with. If he had just…you know...asked for a threesome, that would have been…" Hermione trailed off and paused, thinking. "Well, it would have been _better_, anyway. No, it's the _reason_ he asked!"

"Because he thought you were having sex with Katie?"

"_Because he thought I was having sex with Katie!_" Hermione raged. "As if just because _he's_ attracted to Katie, _obviously_ I must be attracted to her too! As if women are just sex fiends that exist solely for his amusement!"

"Well, in fairness…" began Blaise, but Hemrione quickly overrode her.

"What? No, there is no 'in fairness' here! You're supposed to be on _my_ side, dammit!"

"_In fairness_," Blaise repeated, a little bit louder, making it clear that she had no intention of being drowned out. "It's not like thinking you might play for both teams is _completely_ out of order."

This stunned Hermione into silence momentarily, but not for long.

"_What?_"

"I mean, I'm just saying," giggled Blaise, nibbling the tip of a licorice wand. "I saw you looking at those lesbians back at Alchemy, or Tonks when she's freshly out of the shower. Hell, I've seen the way you look at _me_ from time to time…"

Hermione simply gaped, thoroughly stupefied.

"You can't _possibly_ be serious…"

"I'm sure you don't mean anything by it," placated Blaise, "I'm just saying I see how someone could get that impression."

"_From Katie coming into my room?_"

"Well, no, he was well out of line there."

"Thank you," said a mollified Hermione. "And I'm not attracted to you, I'm _jealous_ of you. I have no idea how you manage to look that good in the Hogwarts uniform, it's perfectly dreadful on everyone else, including and especially _me_."

Blaise smirked. "One of these days, my dear," she said, affecting an imperious tone and brandishing the remains of her licorice wand as a scepter, "I shall deem you worthy of my secrets."

The brunette simply rolled her eyes. "Pop open another bottle, would you? We need something to wash all this down with."

"Indeed."

* * *

A few hours after the Death Eaters had left and both men had tired of training for the day, Harry and Voldemort retired to one of Malfoy Manor's grand parlors. Each flopped into a regal leather-backed chair before the grand white marble fireplace that was the centerpiece of the room. Most fires in wizarding homes were larger than their Muggle counterparts – sizeable enough to receive a man or two at a time through the Floo – but this one was enormous even by those standards: fifteen feet tall, six feet deep, adorned from head to toe with magical engravings of and carvings of unicorns prancing about and striking poses. The first time Harry had come into this room he had been confused by the symbolism – it didn't make sense that a "Dark" family like the Malfoys would be so enamored with a creature firmly associated with the Light. He had aired those thoughts to Voldemort, who had just laughed.

_"We really must work harder on getting Dumbledore's ideas about 'Light' and 'Dark' out of your head, Lord Gaunt. You must divorce yourself from these childish notions and think about what a unicorn actually is. It's one of the most powerfully magical non-sentient species. Its horn has powerful healing properties, but is also a remarkably lethal weapon. The blood of the unicorn can save you from death, but also transmits a powerful curse. It is gentle by nature, but can be ferocious at any point. A unicorn is beautiful and glamorous, but deadly._

_ "Now think about what the unicorn symbolizes, above all else. Think about that, and realize the question you should be asking is why more families like the Malfoys _don't_ associate themselves with unicorns."_

It had been so obvious once Voldemort put it that way. _Purity_. _Of course_. Voldemort had a gift for explaining things this way. Nearly every time he spoke, Harry was left with impression that what the Dark Lord had said was not only absolutely correct but should be completely obvious to anyone with functioning brain cells, and that he – Harry – was better than any hypothetical person that might disagree. It took absolutely no imagination to figure out how Voldemort had begun a revolutionary movement – who _wouldn't_ want to feel like this? Who wouldn't follow this man?

As they sat, recuperating in these wondrous chairs, Harry and Voldemort spoke of issues of little consequence – the coming dawn of Quidditch season, the various inadequacies of Death Eaters old and new. Nagini was curled between them on the rug before the fire and would occasionally lift her head up and interject, usually to express her opinion of how tasty whichever Death Eater they were discussing would be. As a result, the conversation would often lapse into a disjointed English-Parseltongue hybrid that surely would have seemed exceedingly strange to any observers.

"We could just have Blaise and Hermione do it," Harry said eventually, after a lull. "He'll want to talk to them to find out about me, I'm sure of it. I could give them the order now, he could be dead tonight."

Voldemort laughed at this. "My dear Lord Gaunt I admire your ambition…but if killing Dumbledore were as simple as getting him alone in a room with a couple of skilled operatives, I'd have done it _decades _ago? You would really think to attack him in Hogwarts? In the Headmaster's Office? Where he has those portraits, all those devices alerting him to any magic you might use, that fucking _bird_, and any number of other defenses you don't even know about?

"No, Hogwarts has too many eyes and it's too well protected. Leave Dumbledore to me. Perhaps you could get started on our other list though…"

* * *

Hermione was fidgeting. It was awfully nervous, this, sitting in the Headmaster's Office with Blaise just two days after their last training session with Bellatrix Lestrange. Of course, Hermione had always known her return to Hogwarts would come eventually, that a meeting like this was inevitable. But, like so many other things, knowing it intellectually and actually experiencing it were completely different.

Hermione had finally killed for the first time. She and Blaise both had that last day with Bellatrix. The only thing that psychopathic old Death Eater knew about their identities was that they had never killed, so they had been working up to it all month. They had been Muggles, just a couple of junkies they'd kidnapped from some slum in East London, losers that nobody would miss.

The experience had been, well, sort of anti-climactic really. Hermione had felt the tension and adrenaline building all day leading up to it and it had built up and up and up, to the point it was almost literally unbearable when she raised her wand.

But then she had cast her spell – an Asphyxiation Curse, so there wouldn't be any gore – and watched unblinkingly as the sinewy, heavily tattooed and scarred waif of a man had struggled briefly but swiftly succumbed to the oxygen deprivation. And when it was all over, there was nothing. No euphoria, no debilitating pangs of conscience or guilt, no horror, none of the things Harry had told her to expect. Just a deep and abiding _emptiness_, and the absence of emotion was as powerful as anything else she had ever felt.

While Blaise had emerged this morning seemingly cured after being inconsolable for the rest of the day after her kill, Hermione still dwelled on that emptiness. What did it mean, to not feel _anything_? Was she pathological? Had she already been taken in and made an unfeeling monster by the Dark? Or was the fact that she worried about this a sign that she wasn't those things?

Dumbledore was rambling on about something at Blaise, probably probing her for any sign of familiarity that might betray what Harry was up to. Blaise was a pro: giving away nothing, sticking to the company line that Harry just wanted to play Quidditch now, easily parrying questions designed to trap her. Blaise's father had been training her in Occlumency since she was eight and now the girl had a most impressive set of shields. They weren't enough to keep out a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore indefinitely, but certainly he had no chance to get through without concentrated and obvious effort.

Hermione's own shields, on the other hand, were extremely weak. She had only been practicing Occlumency for a couple months; first with Tonks, then with Blaise as well when the blonde had moved in. She was progressing quickly, but Occlumency wasn't the sort of thing you could become a master of overnight. There was more to it than just sitting alone and visualizing a library or a town and filling it with memories, the way some of the more fanciful wizard novels liked to pretend the process worked. That was the last of innumerable steps in the process, the first of which required literally hundreds of mental exercises to retrain your mind to even be receptive to the sort of organization necessary for Occlumency.

At this point in her training, Hermione was able to detect an intrusion and fend it off long enough to disengage from the Legilimens. Blaise had taught her a tricky little spell that would produce a sharp little pain in Hermione's foot not dissimilar to stepping on a tack. The pain it produced would provide sufficient distraction for her mind to jar her loose from a Legilimency attack. Not a perfect defense by any means, but probably enough to get through this meeting with Dumbledore and Snape.

Dumbledore was talking to her now, but Hermione wasn't really listening. How many ways were there to ask, "Tell me what Harry's up to?" How many ways to respond, "I don't know, but if I did I wouldn't tell you?"

"Miss Granger, I don't feel as though I have your full attention. Would you mind looking at me, please?" said Dumbledore, his voice finally cutting through enough to register in her consciousness.

No, Dumbledore did not have her full attention, not before, and certainly not now that her ring had gone warm. Hermione glanced at it as surreptitiously as she could – though it was under a Fidelius Charm, it would not do for Dumbledore to even suspect that such an item might exist. The outer diamonds had gone green and gold; this message was from Harry.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I just don't understand what we're doing here," said Hermione, her voice gaining firmness for the first time that night. "You've asked us repeatedly about Harry, and I'm sorry I'm not in a better position to help you, but I just don't know anything about what's going on with Harry. He doesn't want to come back to school, he's playing Quidditch, he's sort of nervous about the Wizengamot, and he misses Blaise. That's all I know…maybe Blaise knows something else, but it sure doesn't sound like it. Now, unless there's some other reason for having me here, can I go? It's been a long day, and I want to get up early to revise for my morning classes."

She glared at the top of his nose just between his eyes and held it for a brief while. Finally, the Headmaster nodded his acquiescence and Hermione exited the office, making her way swiftly to the nearest bathroom. After ducking into the first stall, Hermione slipped the ring off her finger and read her message.

_Tonight. Bring Seamus. No Blaise. Airtight alibi is a must. Be ready._

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Done! Pretty happy with this chapter, we're really about to get cooking! Please don't forget to leave a review, and be sure to check out my WordPress blog "Supremo Stories" (link in profile) for the extended author's notes!

Here are a couple points I want to make sure everyone gets before I move on to review responses:

First, I've been trying for literally more than a year to remember the name of this fic, so I'm hoping one of my readers can help me out (and obviously, you'll get a HUGE shoutout in the next Author's Notes if you can help me with this). The fic in question is a novel-length fifth year Independent!Harry fic. It's one of those ones where Harry is forming his own coalition to fight Voldemort, separate from Dumbledore (I can't remember if Dumbledore is portrayed as evil or merely manipulative in this fic, but it's one of of the two). **Here's the distinguishing thing that I remember:** At one point, Harry goes off to do some sort of mission and is severely injured in the process (I think he might have been Cruciated, but I'm not 100% positive). He thinks it's really important that he not be treated at Hogwarts, so Fleur brings him back to the Delacour Estate, which is also a magical winery, for a few days of treatment/recouperation. Over that time, they grow close, and on the last night before Harry returns to Hogwarts they have an intimate encounter, despite the fact that Fleur is engaged to Bill. Harry goes back to Hogwarts wanting more/an actual relationship with Fleur, and Fleur is extremely confused about what she wants. Ultimately though, a couple months later, Fleur breaks Harry's heart by telling him she'll stay with Bill. This is all just a subplot, and I think the fic winds up H/Hr, but this plot feature is what stands out in my mind. **Does anyone know what this fic might be? I'll be eternally grateful if you can tell me**. I'm pretty sure this is a fairly well-known, well-liked fic, but I just can't find it for the life of me. Thanks so much, readers. Note: the "Delacour Estate" wine Blaise and Hermione drink on the Express is inspired by this fic. I'd love to give credit, but I just can't yet.

Second, the Hermione/Viktor Krum thing. I don't think I've ever seen this element used before, but I think it makes a lot of sense. I'll expand on this more on the blog, but I'm surprised this isn't an angle other authors haven't explored more. Or, I mean, I guess I understand why: it's creepy to think about or write about a 17/18 year old international Quidditch star having sex with a 15 year old girl. But at the same time, I think this is a very plausible alternative to the standard "Hermione used Krum to make Ron jealous" line from canon, and somewhat more interesting/valid than writing it off as "Hermione was just really into having a foreign pen pal."

OK, on to review responses!

To **Reader-anonymous-writer: **Your question about binding magical contracts was really good. Here's my take: I say that (at least for the purposes of the RotA universe) though there are such things as binding magical contracts that will magically compel performance (and, you'll remember, Harry employs one on the first day at the Atoll), there are also such things as normal contracts as exist in the real world. In the real world, of course, it is extremely rare that the legal system will force actual performance of a contract – instead, they will almost always simply insist that a party in breach of contract compensate the injured party for damages stemming from the breach. So, when Harry quits the Tornados to run the country, he will be liable to the Tornados for whatever damages they can proce (and indeed, there won't be any need for a lawsuit about it, he'll just pay them) but he's not going to lose his magic or die or anything drastic like that.

To **ChaosRune:** I totally understand where you're coming from. When you wrote your review, we were already 81,000 words into RotA – after this chapter, we're more than 90,000 words in – and there hasn't been any actual H/Many yet. I can totally understand how someone who clicked on RotA looking for that would be disappointed. However, I'm going to dispute the idea that "H/Many" is a "lie." The plan from the beginning was to have Harry date/have relations with multiple girls over the course of the story. Though Harry hasn't done anything with anyone besides Blaise yet, my commitment to H/Many has not wavered. That said, this is why I edited the story description thing to say "eventual H/Many," so that people are warned that He doesn't instantly start shagging everything in sight.

To **Mojtaba13: **I hope the last scene with Hermione cleared up your question about "why doesn't Harry just learn Occlumency?" I hate stories where Harry just gets a good book on Occlumency from Hermione and is instantly a Master Occlumens within a week or something absurd. If Occlumency were that easy, why wouldn't everyone do it? Why would Snape be such a valuable asset? Harry is learning Occlumency alongside Hermione, but Occlumency takes years to master to the level they would need, and they needed a _much_ faster solution.

**Frequently Asked Question: **_HAREM?!_

-This sort of ties into my response to ChaosRune, but is distinct enough to be put into its own category. The short answer is that there will not be a "harem" as in the traditional Harem!Harry story. By that, I mean that you aren't going to see a situation where Hermione marries Harry and becomes Lady Potter, and then Blaise marries him and becomes Lady Black, or anything like that. In fact, no one will get married at all in this story.

Now, what _may_ happen (I haven't yet decided, but everyone should have noticed that I've been building this up so I at least have the option later) is that Harry could be involved in a more informal sort of multi-way relationship at some point. But if you're looking for a story where Harry binds half the female sixth-years into concubine contracts or something, that ain't happening here.

Alright, that's all for this time! Be sure to LEAVE REVIEWS and check out my Wordpress blog "Supremo Stories"! And follow me on twitter!

Until next time,

Lord Supremo


	15. Shearman and Sterling

**Author's Note:** Another chapter! Hope you enjoy!

First of all, I want to send a huuuuge shout out to **random fanfic reader** and **xLittle Nightshade** for finding the name of the fic I was looking for in last chapter's author's notes! Thank you both so much! The fic was _Sixth Year: The Steps Toward the End_ by **scaryisntit**. So thanks to you guys and thanks to scaryisntit for inspiring the Delacour Estates wine from the last chapter!

Please remember to leave thought out, constructive reviews! There was almost nothing to from last chapter, so this is going to be the shortest Review Responses section I've ever done. Reviews, good reviews, reviews that make me think, reviews that contain real feedback beyond "Great chapter!" or "Update soon!" are the only compensation that I get for doing this, and it's totally enough to keep me going and enjoying this, but only if you guys take the time to write them. So, please do.

Also, be sure to check out my Wordpress blog "Supremo Stories" and follow me on twitter, where my handle is also SupremoStories.

Disclaimer: The owner of Harry Potter has given away so much of her fortune that she is no longer among the ranks of the world's billionaires. I...well, I don't have any sort of fortune to give away even if I wanted to. Infer what you will.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Shearman and Sterling

**Wizengamot Leader Found Dead in Home, Foul Play Suspected**

Andy Smudgley

The Daily Prophet

_SEPTEMBER 7 - Wizengamot leader Lord Oliver Shearman was found dead in his Cheltenham manor early Monday morning, DMLE spokespeople have confirmed._

_Investigators have not yet announced a cause of death, but sources inside the DMLE speaking on the condition of anonymity have told _The Daily Prophet _that Ministry sensors detected a spike of magic at Lord Shearman's home at 11:31 Sunday night, possibly indicating an assault on the Shearman home's wards._

_Lord Shearman, 65, had long been a fixture within the Wizengamot. A longtime ally of Albus Dumbledore, Shearman was credited with leading the chamber to a variety of progressive reforms, including the liberalization of access to Diagon Alley and prohibitions of a variety of once-common forms of Muggle-baiting._

_Speculation is rampant that it is this legacy which may have doomed Lord Shearman. Though no Dark Mark was discovered at the scene, Shearman has long been presumed on Death Eater hit lists._

_Lord Shearman is survived by his wife Ann, his children Huck and Molly, and seven grandchildren. Many Wizengamot insiders predict that Huck Shearman will assume the Shearman family seat in the Wizengamot, which controls five votes._

* * *

Seething, Blaise crumpled up her edition of _The Daily Prophet_ and threw it aside, ignoring the looks her actions drew from up and down the Slytherin table. How dare Harry take on a task of this magnitude without including her? _Her_, Blaise Zabini, his _girlfriend_, the one who'd set up this whole thing in the first place! And Harry thought he could just cut her out the second she was in Hogwarts, go running off on his own with…with…_Tonks_ and the _Chasers_, on something this important? No sir, Harry had another thing coming, that was for certain.

"Blaise…are you OK," asked Daphne Greengrass from across the table. Blaise had been friends with Daphne and Tracey Davis since before Hogwarts, and their bonds had only grown stronger since they were all Sorted, drawing strength from each other as the only non-fanatical purebloods in their year. Actually, Tracey wasn't even technically a pureblood; her maternal grandparents had been a Squib and a Muggle. Together, the three girls were something of a mirror of Gryffindor's famous Golden Trio, albeit with far less notoriety.

"It's nothing," lied Blaise. "I just knew Lord Shearman a little bit through my father…"

"Oh, you poor thing," said Tracey sympathetically. "Is there anything we can do?"

"No, I'll be fine, I didn't know him well…"

"Well, look, isn't that Harry's owl?" asked Daphne, pointing up to the windows where Hedwig's white plumage stood out clearly against the stream of darker owls flowing through to deliver the morning mail. "Perhaps he'll make you feel better, no? Such a thoughtful boy…"

Daphne carried on complimenting Harry and telling Blaise how lucky she was to have a guy like him, but Blaise tuned her out as Hedwig landed in front of her. Such soliloquies on Harry were relatively common. Like many girls their age, Daphne had grown up dreaming of marrying Harry one day, but unlike most of those girls, Daphne had not abandoned her celeb-crush when the real Harry Potter had turned out to be a scrawny, somewhat reclusive boy instead of the dashing hero they had imagined. Being somewhat shy herself, Daphne had never worked up the courage to act upon her feelings, and her jealousy at Blaise for actually going out and snagging him had been palpable in several of her letters over the summer.

Blaise untied the envelope from Hedwig's leg and thanked her, offering the snowy owl some bits of bacon as she did.

The letter was fairly uninteresting. It could not be plainer that Harry had had no previous occasion on which to write a girlfriend, the whole thing was terribly stilted and awkward. Nonetheless, Harry's affection for her came through – more clearly, even, than it had at their parting at King's Cross station – and Blaise briefly felt her own feelings toward him warm slightly, until she remembered why she was mad at him in the first place.

Blaise was sorely tempted to crumple up this letter too and toss it aside with the _Prophet_, but as she moved to do so, she felt the ring on her last finger grow warm. It was Harry.

Excusing herself from the table, Blaise moved swiftly down into the dungeons, through the her common room, and into the relative privacy of the dorm she shared with the other sixth-year Slytherin girls. Blaise removed her ring and read its new inscription.

_Shearman was us. Kept you out to confuse AD. Hope you're not mad._

This threw Blaise for a loop. "AD" plainly stood for Dumbledore, but how did keeping her out of the loop serve to confuse him? Blaise opted to reply with just one word:

_Explain._

* * *

**Shearman Cause of Death Confirmed; Foul Play Still Suspected**

Andy Smudgley

The Daily Prophet

_SEPTEMBER 8 – The Department of Magical Law Enforcement task force assigned to investigate the death of Lord Oliver Shearman has determined that the Wizengamot leader died of cardiac arrest, DMLE spokeswizard Lionel Gibbs announced Tuesday._

_However, despite the seemingly natural cause of death, DMLE investigators have not yet ruled out murder in the case._

"_Our team is still pursuing all avenues of investigation," said Gibbs in a prepared statement. Gibbs refused requests for more information, but a senior DMLE official familiar with the investigation said there were several factors leading the team to suspect foul play._

"_The team is still reviewing tons of data from what looks like massive spellcasting activity both at the Shearman property ward line and in the room where Shearman's body was found," said the official, who required anonymity to discuss an ongoing investigation._

"_But the real evidence here is that both of Shearman's arms were broken," the source continued. "He could have broken them falling, but from the placement and nature of the breaks, it looks more like something a high-level duelist would do to incapacitate his opponent."_

_DMLE sources refused to discuss potential motives for Lord Shearman's killer on the record, but privately said that the team is looking into the man's private life for evidence of dealings with criminal elements that may have gone bad._

"_I'm not saying it was definitely murder, and I'm not saying that if it was murder it definitely wasn't Death Eaters," said one source. "But we're definitely looking into all other possibilities; this just doesn't feel like a Death Eater case."_

* * *

"Anything good in there?"

"Just the usual dreck," said Dumbledore, folding his copy of the _Prophet_ neatly and setting it aside on his desk. "They've made no progress, but the Ministry has to report _something_ or people will go mad, so this is what we get: a faint scrap of information they probably could have released in time for print yesterday, followed by nonsense and speculation from unnamed sources.

"Unfortunately, my own sources are only slightly better, the only other thing they'll tell me is that there were three assailants who carried out the deed, but they have no idea who those three people might be," Dumbledore continued, sighing. "Of course, if they knew what _we _know…"

Snape scoffed.

"Regardless of your feelings about the_ identity_ of Lord Gaunt, Severus, surely you cannot deny that this is most likely his work?"

"If it is Gaunt, then your theory about Gaunt being Potter is officially dead," Snape sneered.

"Oh?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.

"As you requested, I have scanned the memories of the sixth-year Slytherin girls. Blaise Zabini spent Sunday night rowing with Malfoy and the others about Potter; the fight carried on well into the morning, well past Shearman's time of death. Zabini wasn't involved; that means she isn't one of Gaunt's lieutenants, and there goes one of the legs of your preposterous theory.

"Meanwhile – as you would know if you bothered to actually pay attention to the students – the gossip around the school is that Granger spent that night, ah…" Snape trailed off, looking disgusted, "_cavorting_ with the Finnegan boy. So there goes another leg, and now all you have is the coincidence that Gaunt arose during the same season Potter shut you out! Some theory!"

"I'll remind you that Harry-as-Gaunt was _your_ theory, Severus," said Dumbledore sternly

"One that I've abandoned! As should you, just look at the evidence! You really think _Potter_, of all people, could break down the Shearman wards?"

"You abandoned it because of a traumatic encounter with Gaunt, not from any _evidence_," shot back Dumbledore. "You can't let go of your idea of Harry as the little boy that didn't read ahead for his first Potions class, the shy boy who let you bully him because his father was your childhood nemesis, and that is blinding you from the truth. _Lose_ that image, Severus. I'll remind you that Harry is the same boy who learned the Patronus Charm in mere months and drove away a hundred Dementors as a thirteen year old! The same boy who conquered the Triwizard Maze at fourteen! The same boy who is prophesied to kill Lord Voldemort and rule this country as a Dark Lord! You think _that_ boy couldn't weave an Intimidation Jinx into his cloak? You think _that_ boy couldn't take down the Shearman wards with a few months learning at Voldemort's heel?

"You aren't reasoning," sneered Dumbledore, drawing himself up to his full height. "You're grasping at straws, clinging to anything that confirms your pre-existing biases. Your crowning piece of evidence just now comes from _the Hogwarts rumor mill_. I mean, come on Severus-"

"It's not just the Hogwarts rumor mill," cut in Snape. "McGonagall confirmed to me that the Gryffindor portraits saw Granger and Finnegan begin their…ah…_activities_…in the common room. She said they ran out to some unused classroom like nifflers in heat."

"Regardless," said Dumbledore, waving this off and resuming his seat. "Even if Miss Granger and Miss Zabini were not involved, in no way does that rule out Harry and Lord Gaunt being one and the same. He could have brought others to attack Shearman."

"Would you just _listen_ to yourself, Dumbledore?" implored Snape. "_Others_? Never mind for the moment that we've never heard the faintest hint of Gaunt having any of his own people beyond the two lieutenants, just _who_ do you think Potter might trust enough for something like this? And who among them would be willing to _kill a member of the Wizengamot for Voldemort_ with him? You think Tonks is going to start doing Voldemort's bidding? Think Oliver Wood is taking time out from his training to moonlight as an assassin?

"The boy has been isolated his entire life, and the few magical people he does know have been firmly rooted in the Light, your machinations have seen to that. Is this not _precisely_ why you have gone to such lengths to control his life? Do you think that you _failed_?"

Dumbledore looked down at this, solemn. "I know I have failed, at least partially," he whispered. "The Harry I intended to raise would never have killed his uncle. He'd never have shut me out of Grimmauld Place the way this Harry did, and he certainly would have come back after what happened to the youngest Mr. Weasley."

"Immaterial," insisted Snape. "The question is if Harry has anyone that would go murdering people with him, anyone besides Zabini or Granger. The answer is no. You need to divorce yourself from this idea of Potter as Lord Gaunt and accept the truth that he's just an arrogant little shit who decided to run away from his responsibilities."

With that, Snape turned and left the office, leaving Dumbledore to his thoughts.

* * *

**Shearman Death Ruled Homicide; Search is On for Three Suspects**

Andy Smudgley

The Daily Prophet

_SEPTEMBER 9 – Investigators at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have officially classified Monday's death of Lord Oliver Shearman as a homicide, according to sources within the department._

_Tuesday's report, which is sealed to the public but was revealed to _The Daily Prophet _by an anonymous source, paints a chilling portrait of the final minutes of Lord Shearman's life. _

_According to the report, at least three witches or wizards unknown began probing the wards protecting the Shearman ancestral home around 11:30 Sunday night. Within ten minutes, the assailants had taken down Shearman's protection and entered the home, breaking in through the front door with a simple Unlocking Charm._

_No further spells were cast until around 11:45 when Shearman, in an apparent attempt to sneak away from his assailants, cast Silencing spells and a Disillusionment Charm. Unfortunately, this did not succeed. Shortly thereafter, there was a large exchange of spellfire, which investigators believe ended when the assailants succeeded in breaking both of Shearman's arms, rendering him incapable of defending himself further. Moments later, one of the assailants cast a spell that stopped Shearman's heart. _

_Sources within the DMLE say that the attack – though likely carried out by professionals – is not viewed as the work of Death Eaters at this time._

"_First of all, whoever these people were they didn't use a single Unforgivable Curse, which is very unlike Death Eaters," said a source familiar with the investigation, speaking on the condition of anonymity. "And of course, the most obvious bit of evidence is the lack of a Dark Mark over the property. If this were the work of You-Know-Who, he'd likely want everyone to know he'd done it."_

"_And frankly, that's the most unsettling thing of all," said the source when pressed for more information. "If this wasn't Death Eaters, that means there's another group out there – one that we may never have heard of – willing and able to commit such a heinous crime. What are the motivations for this group? What do they hope to accomplish by killing Wizengamot members? And who might they target next?"_

_A spokeswizard for DMLE director Amelia Bones refused to comment when asked about the existence of such a group, citing a department policy against discussing ongoing investigations._

* * *

"We have to protect ourselves!" shouted Lord Sterling, slamming his fist on his edge at the head of the long, oaken table. "I don't give a flying fuck _what_ the _Prophet_ says, this is the Dark Lord's doing! We must take _action_!"

This was the meeting of Lord Sterling and ten of his closest and most influential friends on the Wizengamot, held weekly at lunch in the legendary private dining room atop Bulstrode's, the venerated Diagon Alley restaurant. This group was known to outsiders as "the Pureblood Caucus," but no one on the inside ever used that name; they simply thought of themselves as a group of important friends working for the mutual interest of themselves and Magical Britain. The only organization to the group was that Sterling was the leader: a former Ravenclaw who graduated at the top of his class, Sterling was regarded by much of the governing establishment as one of the wisest wizards around.

Of course to Blood Reform activists, Lord Sterling was nothing short of a demon. For the past seventy years, Marbury had led the Pureblood Caucus in its staunch opposition to any measure that would expand the rights and legal status of half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Sterling had absolutely no compunction about using the law to advance the personal interests of himself and the rest of the ruling pureblood class at the expense of lesser wizards. His 1931 book, _The Pureblood Manifesto_, stood as one of the most influential texts of its time, particularly for its famous "Right to Rule" passage:

_We – who are Pure of Blood, who assiduously reject all contact and association with Muggles, who faithfully and jealously hold the Secret; we are the Chosen Protectors, endowed by Magic itself with the Right to Rule. Our cause is and forever must be to shield the heritage and traditions of Magic from infiltration and perversion by those tainted by the filth of the Mundane. If we shall do so – if we lead the Wizarding World to sustain itself, if we shun those who muddy their blood with the dregs of the ordinary world, if we live up to the highest ideals of Atlantis – then our rightful place in History shall be forever secured._

This passage birthed the term "Mudblood" and was heavily cited by both Grindelwald and Voldemort in their respective rises to power. But despite this dubious connection, neither Sterling nor any of the rest of the Pureblood Caucus were Death Eaters, or even sympathetic to Voldemort's goals – though they wouldn't say that aloud, lest they invite Voldemort's wrath. Unlike families like the Blacks or the Malfoys, these Lords were content with the status quo, perceiving that a Voldemort-led autocracy would rob them of their privileged position.

Thus, the subject of today's meeting.

"What would you have us do, Sterling," shot back Lord Marbury. "Turn to Dumbledore? He can't protect us, that's the whole point."

"The Dark Lord has never attacked a pureblood before, or at least not a Lord of the Wizengamot. Maybe Dumbledore wasn't protecting him, reckoned he was safe," argued Lord Cleary. "But now he knows it's open season, he'll bring his protection to bear. He'll have to."

"If Dumbledore didn't put up his strongest wards on all the manors of all his supporters the _day_ he learned of the Dark Lord's return, he's a fool, and not one I want to entrust with my safety," replied Marbury. "If we go to Dumbledore, he'll want us to abandon everything we've held dear for our whole lives, everything our families have held dear for _centuries_."

"What's your alternative, Marbury?" asked Lord Smith. "Kneeling before some jumped-up half-blood, emptying our vaults in the service of elevating Newbloods like Avery? _Phaw_!"

"And what's _your_ alternative, Smith? You want to see Mudbloods hanging shingles on Diagon Alley, undercutting your prices because they'll import inferior supplies from the Muggle muck fields? You want to see a blood traitor in the Minister's chair? How about an actual Mudblood? Maybe we should just nominate _Ashburner_ and start singing 'God Save the Queen' right now?"

"Gentlemen, please!" interjected Lord Hamby. "We don't even know that the Dark Lord is behind this, isn't it possible we're overreacting? Lambourne, you knew Shearman well, didn't you? We've all heard the rumors about Shearman's habit of betting broom races…maybe he just got in debt with the wrong people? And I don't know about you all, but the Hamby family wards were constructed by William Potter himself and have stood for 800 years. I don't care if the Dark Lord comes personally, I will be fine!"

"You really think Shearman was killed over a gambling debt he couldn't pay," asked Sterling incredulously, overruling whatever Lambourne had been about to say. "Smith…that's a billion-Galleon estate. You really think he blew it all on _broom races_?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Smith insisted. "If it can happen to the Rookwoods, it can happen to anyone. A decade or two of investments secretly going bad, combined with a gambling habit? And let's be honest, it's not as though Ann was frugal either…remember that new chandelier she was showing off at the Yule party three years back? Must have cost a million Galleons by itself."

"_Hem hem_," hissed a voice from the corner of the room. All the Lords' heads whipped around to stare at the dark-cloaked figure that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The hooded and cloaked figure was much shorter than a Dementor but projected the same aura of utter terror and despair. And those glowing green eyes from under the hood: so malevolent, but impossible to turn away from. Lord Sterling began shuddering uncontrollably; he had never seen anyone project such sheer malevolence.

"As interesting as it is listening to the lot of you wring your hands and bitch to each other, I've decided to skip forward to the climax of this meeting," said the figure, pacing around the table at which the Caucus sat. All eyes followed him.

"Allow me to introduce myself," continued the figure, pausing to perform an exaggerated bow. "My name is Lord Gaunt, and I am the one who killed Lord Shearman."

Gaunt paused to allow this information to sink in, then went on. "I'm sure you are all distressed to meet Lord Shearman's killer, and probably even more distressed that such a person was so easily able to break into your little lunch here. However, instead of being upset, you should rejoice! For I have a solution to your dilemma!"

Lord Sterling had the sense that he was being mocked, and a further sense that this 'Lord Gaunt' was the sort of person who could easily harm him should he object to being mocked. Still, Marbury had not reached his position by allowing himself to be walked over.

"I'm sorry, but just who the fuck do you think you are and what the fuck do you think you're doing in our lunch?" Sterling thundered, drawing himself up to his full height.

The glowing green triangles under Gaunt's hood bored into Marbury's eyes and the aged wizard found it impossible to turn away. If he were a Muggle, Marbury might describe the sensation of looking into those eyes as being scanned or X-Rayed.

Eventually, Gaunt spoke. "As I said, my name Lord Gaunt," he began slowly, his hiss sounding as though he might be speaking with a small child. "But I suppose that matters less right now than the fact that I am the man who has poisoned each of your meals with a Dehydrating Draught, and unless you do precisely as I say, all of you will be dead within the hour."

Jaws dropped around the table. A tasteless poison when properly prepared, Dehydrating Draught was one of the most painful ways known to kill a wizard. Left untreated, it would begin by forcing all bodily fluids besides blood out of the body any way they could come out: sweating, crying, spitting, and – primarily – vomiting. When it had finished extracting everything it could by these methods, the potion caused the body to overheat and literally boil away the rest of the liquid in the body. A further complication was that the Dehydrating Draught was one of the few poisons that could not be cured with a bezoar, instead requiring a relatively time-consuming antidote brewed from extremely rare ingredients.

"Ah, I see I have your attention now," hissed Gaunt, the mockery in his voice growing more pronounced than ever. "You see, your group won't be going to Dumbledore and asking for protection, nor will you will go crawling back to Voldemort and begging him not to kill you for your years of disobedience. No, all of you will be swearing an unconditional and perpetual Unbreakable Vow oath of obedience and loyalty to _me_. Perhaps we can start with you, Lord Sterling."

"Now see here _Gaunt_," Sterling blustered. "I am Lord John Sterling, I am possessed of the purest of blood, my family has led this country for over one thousand years, and I _shall not_ be extorted like this!"

"I know who you are, idiot, why do you think I am here?" said Gaunt, and Sterling could hear the sneer he could not see. "And you appear to have mistaken me for someone who gives the faintest whisper of a shit about titles and blood status. You _will_ be extorted like this, or you will die in agony in this very room. And after you die, I will present you heirs with the same choice, and their heirs, and their heirs, and their heirs. I _will_ have your votes, the only question is how many of your family members will perish before I have them. I will _end your lines_ and let your votes vanish into thin air before I will allow them to exist outside of my control. Now _swear the Vow_."

Sterling cowered in the face of Gaunt's fury, but before he could swear his oath, there was a flurry of activity at the end of the table. Lord Marbury had leapt out of his chair, wand in hand, apparently intent on cursing Gaunt, but a blue-green burst of magic had flared from behind him and now he lay, twitching and screaming, on the floor.

"_Fool_," Gaunt hissed, standing over Marbury. The extortionist spat on Marbury's face and crushed the Lord's wand with a quick stomp of his boot. "Did you truly believe that I was alone? That I would come into this room at a ten-to-one disadvantage? Did you truly believe that I was bluffing, that I hadn't poisoned the lot of you? I alone have access to the antidote that will save your lives; if you kill me, you are only dooming yourselves.

"Now, Lord Sterling, I believe you were about to give me your oath."

Sterling swore the oath and within five minutes, so too had the rest of the Pureblood Caucus.

"Very well, Lord Gaunt," Sterling ground out through clenched teeth as Lambourne completed the final Vow. "What would you have us do?"

"For the moment, nothing. None of you will in any way let the outside world in on what has occurred here. You will vote as you would normally, you will attend social functions and manage your businesses as you normally would, and you certainly will not do anything that would jeopardize your place on the Wizengamot. In general, you will live your lives exactly as though you had not just signed them away to me," Gaunt said, and Sterling had no doubt that he was gloating.

"Whenever I determine that the time is right, however, you will do exactly as I say, vote exactly as I say, and behave exactly as I say. You will also bring to bear your considerable influence on those outside of this room in favor of or opposition to whatever projects I might decide. You are all now my slaves – perfect agents of my will – from today forth and forevermore."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **So, obviously this is a much shorter chapter than you've been getting out of me lately. I hope no one minds...the decision was to either abandon the narrative structure I worked with here (which I like, and I hope you did too), write a chapter that was muddled and thematically incohesive, or put out a short chapter. I opted for the short chapter, I hope everyone's cool with that.

I'm going to have a more complete set of author's notes up on the blog, but there are a couple of things going on here that I want to make sure everyone gets. The first is that in the argument between Snape and Dumbledore, even though Dumbledore has been "right" in the sense that Harry is Lord Gaunt, you should be keenly aware that his reasoning is relatively flimsy as Snape points out in this chapter and as Harry hopes to exploit (although, obviously, Harry has no idea what's going on between Dumbledore and Snape). This tension, wherein Dumbledore is right for the wrong reasons and Snape is wrong for a mixture of good and bad reasons, has potential to severely restrain Dumbledore moving forward.

On to review responses!

To **SalemTheSpeakerOfTruth:** You're right that, according to Rowling, Dumbledore of canon was gay. However, there are several reasons why the Dumbledore of RotA is not:

1. First and most importantly, at the time that I published the chapter referencing "Dumbledore's wife" (Chapter 2: Confrontation and Confliction), no one knew that Dumbledore was gay. Rowling made that announcement on October 20th, 2007; Chapter 2 was published July 9, 2006...more than a year earlier. In fact, at the time that Chapter 2 was published, even the biggest clue that Dumbledore might be gay was not public: _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, which contained the discussion of Dumbledore's relationship with Grindelwald, was published about a week and a half after Chapter 2 came out. So there was no way for me to incorporate a gay Dumbledore into the story at that point; Dumbledore just wasn't gay yet.

2. As I've said repeatedly, the only canon I'm committed to accepting in the RotA universe is canon from _Order of the Phoenix_ or earlier. Dumbledore being gay is not from _Order of the Phoenix_ or earlier, therefore even if Chapter 2 had been published yesterday, I'd be under no obligation to make Dumbledore gay.

3. A gay Dumbledore doesn't really do anything for my story, so I see no reason to include it. There was a time when I considered using it for the sake of introducing sexual tension between Snape and Dumbledore (in this scenario, Snape would also be gay or maybe bicurious), but then I discarded that Idea as being unrealistic (Dumbledore is literally about 100 years older than Snape) and gross (_Dumbledore is literally about 100 years older than Snape_).

So, yeah.

Also, I think you need to read a little bit more about inbreeding.

And that was the only review I've gotten since the last chapter was published that required a response.

By the way, I don't want to make it sounds as though I don't appreciate those of you who send me short reviews. I very much do appreciate you taking the time to send a little thing saying you enjoyed the chapter...and given that I only have 730 total reviews against almost 550,000 hits, you guys are definitely in the highest percentiles of my readers. So, I definitely thank you.

Until next time,

Lord Supremo


	16. What Have I Done?

**Author's Note:** I'm back! As I told readers of my blog (the link to which can be found in my profile), I ran into a horrific amount of computer trouble, resulting in me losing all of my old RotA files. I'm still working on piecing together the plans I had for this fic, but I've cobbled together enough to write this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

As always, don't forget to follow me on twitter (my handle is Supremostories) and check out my Wordpress blog (also called Supremo Stories, link in my profile).

And please, please, please, above all else, leave reviews! I say this at the top of every chapter, but I really can't emphasize how much I appreciate hearing from those of you who appreciate my work. And, even if you think I suck, that's probably valuable information too, if you can be specific about why.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns these characters. If you haven't caught on by now that I'm not her, there's probably no hope for you.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: What Have I Done?

"It's weird being in this room with such a small group."

"It's weird being in this room _without Harry_."

"Hell, it's weird being in this room at all," said Neville. "After Umbridge last year, I thought for sure that I'd never be back here."

"Yes, well, if you could all get over the weirdness of being in the room, we haven't got much time," Hermione said, with an astringency that she immediately regretted. She too had been struck by the surrealism of returning to the Room of Requirement when she had arrived, fifteen minutes ahead of the others. The last time they had been in this room, Dobby the house elf had burst into the room, shaking with terror, to warn them that Umbridge was on the way. Hermione remembered flying from the room, all dignity forgotten, certain that life as she knew it was about to end.

Being expelled from Hogwarts was a disaster for any of its students, but for none so much as the Muggleborns. In the best-case scenario, Hermione could expect to complete her magical education at one of the Ministry-run day schools, which taught less advanced curriculum, worked at a much slower pace compared to Hogwarts and didn't offer the N.E.W.T. qualification. Without access to the leading experts who taught at Hogwarts, she'd have to spend years of independent study to achieve N.E.W.T. level all on her own. Then, even with her N.E.W.T.s in hand, her post-graduate educational and career opportunities would be severely diminished by her inferior schooling; a degree from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang was all but a prerequisite for a European-born student seeking admission to the elite magical universities of the Continent and the United States. In Britain, which largely eschewed post-secondary education in favor of apprenticeships run by individual employers, Hermione would be especially constrained: generations of pureblood elites passing through the school had given Hogwarts alumni a stranglehold on the upper echelons of government, business, and society. For graduates of the lesser schools, there was no glass ceiling; the ceiling was as strong and opaque as thickly-poured concrete.

And again, that was the best-case scenario. Over the years, Professor McGonagall had often warned Hermione that being both Muggleborn and top of her class at Hogwarts was dangerous. She was drawing attention to herself. Some of it was good, but more of it was from powerful figures to whom her success would be a profound political threat. By excelling the way she was, Hermione was a living repudiation of pureblood dogma. "There are many very powerful, very important people who would love nothing more than to watch you fail, and who will attempt to arrange your failure if given half a chance," Professor McGonagall had told her in her third year before giving her the Time-Turner. "You cannot give them a single opening." Because of this, Hermione was terrified that if she should ever be expelled, her enemies would not be content to simply exile her to one of the St. George schools. There was a very real threat that she might find herself in a Ministry hearing room, listening to a magistrate order her be sent back to her parents with her wand snapped and her memories of the Wizarding world erased. This was the fate handed down to hundreds of "subversive" Muggleborns before her, although the practice had become much less common in the years since Dumbledore became Chief Warlock.

Thus, she had run for her life, too upset and terrified to have a strong sense of where she was going. Luckily, she had quickly come upon an empty classroom, which she ducked inside, Disillusioning herself and casting a quick Notice-Me-Not jinx on the door. It would never hold if Umbridge decided to hunt for her specifically, but she prayed that it would give her enough time in the chaos outside. She had sunk onto one of the desks and held herself, shaking from the adrenaline, furious with the world that the D.A. had been discovered before it had a chance to really explore defensive magic, and furious with herself for risking so much for so little gain. Harry would be expelled for certain, his had always been the head Umbridge was looking to mount on her wall. She felt horribly guilty for pushing Harry into the project and hoped that he would forgive her for getting him tossed out of Hogwarts. He had money, sure, there was no reason for her to think Harry wouldn't be able to provide for himself without the Hogwarts seal of approval, but Hermione knew that Hogwarts was the only place Harry considered home and she hated herself for taking it from him. The last thing she had done before she left the classroom was indulge in a brief fantasy of herself and Harry living life on the lam, living in Muggle hotels and magical tents, dodging Ministry agents and Death Eaters alike at every turn, maybe going with Sirius to whichever paradise he had sent all those tropical birds from the previous year. It would have been the stuff adventure novels were made of...

So she understood, perhaps better than most, the full emotional weight that returning to this Room bore. However, their time in here was limited: she and Blaise had used their communication rings to invite the others from the Atoll group - Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Ernie MacMillan - to the Room for a quick meeting before the other old members of the D.A. arrived.

"We just wanted to tell you guys about how we're going to handle things this semester," Hermione said, now that she had the attention of the others.

"We made a lot of progress at the Atoll this summer, but there's still tons of work we still need to do. The problem is that we need to keep what we're doing as secret as possible, which is a definite challenge with all the surveillance Dumbledore has in this school. So this is what we've come up with."

"Hermione is going to tell the rest of the D.A. that instead of having one weekly meeting, as you all had last year, we're going to have four one-hour meetings every week," said Blaise. "The justification is that with Voldemort back and in the open now, we need all the training we can get. And that's not wrong, but the real purpose is so we can have one of you guys stay back with one of us for your actual training session."

"Our thinking is that if anyone is watching us, they will just see the mass of D.A. members leaving at once and not notice that two of us are missing," said Hermione, picking up where Blaise left off without missing a beat. "And if they do notice," she added, looking slightly uncomfortable, "well, without putting too fine a point on it, there's an advantage to the fact that Blaise and I are girls and the four of you are boys..."

"Huh?" asked Neville, clearly not getting it.

"We want them to think we're having sex, Neville," said Blaise, rolling her eyes. "If they notice that a boy and a girl are staying behind after every meeting, they may think that we're simply having sex, not training to become assassins and plotting to overthrow the Ministry."

Neville turned bright red and only managed a small, "Oh," in response.

"Right," said Hermione, ruthlessly quashing the mental image of Neville trying to have sex with someone. "So, obviously I'll be in charge of Seamus' training; since people know we're seeing each other anyhow that will work nicely. And we thought I might also take Ernie, so that Blaise can take Dean and Neville. Any objections?"

None of the boys said anything.

"Right," Hermione said again, eager to move on. "It's not perfect, but we hope it'll do some good. We're also going to randomize who stays behind on which day, so hopefully that will be another smokescreen to anyone watching us; no patterns to detect. The biggest thing is we can't let anyone know that these meetings are happening. No one can know, including the others in the D.A. Are we all good?"

The boys nodded.

"Good. We won't have any training today because I imagine more people than usual will want to stay late to ask questions, but Seamus and I will get started tomorrow, and the rest of the week's schedule will get sorted out from there," Hermione said. "Now, the others will be here in just a couple minutes, so go talk amongst yourselves or something, pretend we haven't been here forever."

The group dispersed. Hermione walked up to the head of the Room, where a comfortable office chair and a desk very much like the one in Professor McGonagall's classroom sprang into existence. Hermione sat down behind it and pulled her notes for today's session. Undoubtedly, some of the D.A. members' skills would have atrophied over the summer, but revision could wait until tomorrow's meeting. This would be Hermione's first time in a formal instructing position, and she wanted to have as engaging of a meeting as possible. That meant picking up exactly where they left off when Umbridge busted the club last year: the Patronus Charm.

After a couple minutes reviewing her notes, Hermione looked up around the Room. Neville, Dean, and Seamus had made their way to the far wall and were sitting around a fireplace in chairs just like the ones in the Gryffindor common room, chatting amiably. Ernie was sitting with them too, but wasn't really participating in their conversation, preferring instead to comb through the financial section of _The Daily Prophet_, as was his habit. Blaise was standing around by herself near the bookshelf, awkwardly in between Hermione's desk and where the boys were sitting. Hermione felt a pang of guilt as she watched Blaise's eyes aimlessly trace over the titles on the wall for what must have been at least the tenth time: the two of them had long ago decided that they couldn't let those outside the Atoll group know how friendly they had become, it would raise too many questions about what might have gone on over the summer. Dumbledore knew Blaise was dating Harry, everyone knew that, and he must have known that Hermione spent the summer living with Harry, so he would expect that Blaise and Hermione knew each other. However, if that mutual relationship was the only way Blaise and Hermione knew each other, it would be rather odd for them to be particularly close to one another.

Thus, there could be no more of the bonding they shared over the summer; no more late nights depleting the Atoll's impressive cellar of rare wine, debating the relative merits of Aspen versus St. Moritz as skiing destinations; no more putting their heads together to solve seemingly intractable magical and strategic problems; no more consoling each other after a particularly awful lesson with Bellatrix. Hermione would sorely miss that. Blaise was intelligent and had enough intellectual curiosity to keep pace with Hermione, she was refined and cultured in a way that few of Hermione's peers had ever been, and she had this way of being open, understanding, and casual about topics that had previously made Hermione uncomfortable that was nothing short of miraculous. Blaise wasn't perfect - she could be impulsive and reckless, she had something of a temper, and she occasionally liked to make digs about the fact that the Grangers were not quite the plutocrats that the Zabinis were - but she already felt like the best female friend Hermione had ever had. Hermione already felt the pain of losing the easy access to that friendship she had once had, and she suspected it would only get worse; she'd never had very many female friends.

Hermione could not dwell on Blaise, though, as the first members of what Hermione thought of as the "public" D.A. came strolling into the Room of Requirement. Just as they had the previous year at the Hog's Head tavern, they came mostly in groups of twos and threes corresponding to their year and house. Hermione was quite pleased with the turnout; with the obvious exceptions of Marietta Edgecombe and those who had graduated or otherwise departed from Hogwarts, everyone from the previous year had returned. Even Cho Chang had come - a shocking development given how poorly most of the D.A. had treated her after Marietta's betrayal - leaving Hermione to suspect that the older girl was truly desperate to ace her Defense N.E.W.T. There were also a few new faces in the group: Colin Creevey had brought along a few of his yearmates in Gryffindor, and Zacharias Smith had a couple younger Ravenclaws in tow; Hermione didn't know which was which, but recognized both as scions of important political families. Finally, Blaise's friends Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis arrived, causing some minor grumbling from the Creevey contingent. Hermione was glad that Blaise was no longer alone in the group, but watching the blonde light up at the Slytherins' appearance was bittersweet, so Hermione turned away, taking one last look at her notes before standing up and calling for quiet.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to the resurrection of the D.A.!" Hermione called with genuine enthusiasm, and several of the more dedicated members gave a cheer, heartening her.

"I see we have a couple new faces here today, so in case any of you don't know, my name is Hermione Granger and I'll be leading the group this year in Harry's absence," Hermione continued. "As ever, our goal here is to deeply study the practical aspects of -"

"I'm sorry, but before you go any further, I have to ask you something," broke in Zacharias Smith, whose voice was as loud and abrasive as ever.

"I showed up here tonight with my friends because I learned a lot in last year's D.A. and because I have a lot of respect for you personally, Hermione," Smith said. "But at the same time, Umbridge is gone. Professor Ketteridge seems more than competent. And, most importantly, no offense intended, but Harry isn't here anymore. So, what's the point?"

_Yes, you have so much respect for me that you have no problem interrupting me and questioning my authority and competence within 30 seconds of arriving_, Hermione seethed to herself, but she had anticipated this challenge.

"'What's the point?'" she repeated incredulously. "I'm sorry _Zach_, but did you miss the part where Voldemort's return is out in the open now? Don't you remember how he and several Death Eaters stormed the Ministry itself, or how Lords of the Wizengamot are being murdered in their homes now? Have you already forgotten that just a couple months ago, Death Eaters _tortured _Ron right in the streets of Diagon Alley?"

The last sentence was met with a collective wince from the group, and Hermione heard a strangled yelp that must have come from Ginny Weasley. Hermione pressed on undeterred. _I need a pig_, she thought, and suddenly there was a pig trundling around to her left.

"The point is that the world is more dangerous now than it has been at any point in our lives. The point is that no one - not the purebloods among you, not the half-bloods, not anyone who isn't willing to bend their knee to Voldemort - is safe."

Hermione turned to face the pig and quickly brought all the anger and frustration that she felt toward Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Zacharias to the fore of her consciousness. "_Avada Kedavra!_" she cried, and the pig's life was wiped away instantly in a sickly flash of green.

"The point is that there are evil people running loose in this world, and if you do not know how to defend yourself, they will take you and everyone you have ever loved or cared about and slaughter you. Like a pig," she finished, pointing to the carcass at her feet.

"Does anyone else have a question about the point of being here?"

The room was silent.

"Good. Let's get started, then."

* * *

The green glow of the Floo fire receded, and so too did Albus Dumbledore. He slumped back into his chair and heaved a great sigh of frustration. Lord Rivers had been at least the seventeenth of his allies in the Wizengamot to come crying to him after the murder of Lord Shearman. Dumbledore did not mind offering protection to these Lords, of course, anything that cemented their place in his pocket was fine by him. The problem was they didn't seem to want anything he could actually offer. Rivers had been the most unreasonable, demanding a permanent garrison of Order members to defend his home, but all of them were being difficult: invariably, they wanted a set of completely impenetrable wards that would make their homes impossible to find and that would kill any Death Eater foolish enough to come within a mile of their house, but that also wouldn't in any way restrict the Lords or their families from coming and going as they pleased or even modestly inconvenience any guests they might wish to have over.

It wasn't that wards like that were impossible - families that were lucky enough to have been wealthy enough centuries ago when William Potter was alive had just that advanced level of protection. But for all his mastery of much of the world of magic, Dumbledore had never been particularly expert in wardcrafting; it just wasn't much of a priority when he had spent the majority of his adult life living at Hogwarts and had no great ancestral home to protect. He was competent with big, powerful, general effect wards like the Fidelius Charm, but the more subtle nuances involved in keying wards to individuals, integrating Legilimency to determine the intent of someone approaching, variable alert states, 'smart' wards that could detect and analyze magical signatures...these things were beyond him.

And so there was a large portion of his contingent in the Wizengamot unhappy with him today. He'd been able to get the Lords to accept some of his special, untraceable emergency portkeys, which he hoped would prove sufficient to keep his more morally flexible allies from turning to Voldemort for protection. Nonetheless, it was becoming clear that the Shearman case would not simply blow over. The Lords, once so convinced that their blood status protected them from Voldemort so long as they did not actively fight him, had been shaken to the core by Shearman's murder, and Dumbledore feared that another such killing would lead to complete chaos. He needed to become certain of Lord Gaunt's identity, and then he needed to eliminate the threat.

The obvious place to begin his investigation was with Harry, whom he still strongly suspected of being Gaunt, even if his confidence in Gaunt's involvement in the Shearman murder had been shaken by his last discussion with Professor Snape. If only he could get closer tabs on Harry's whereabouts, he could get much closer to his answer. Severus reported that since his Introduction, Lord Gaunt was always at the meetings Voldemort held with his top lieutenants and frequently - but, importantly, not _always_ - at the meetings with the broader body of Death Eaters. If Dumbledore could establish that Harry's whereabouts were known during those absences and that he was missing when Gaunt did show up, that would be an important piece of evidence. On the other side of the coin, if Harry's whereabouts _were _known during a Gaunt appearance, that would eliminate him as a suspect.

The problem was that Harry was extremely hard to pin down these days. Harry was almost never in the public eye: he was only occasionally seen out with his Quidditch teammates, he didn't strut around the Ministry with a team of staff the way many Wizengamot Lords did, he didn't frequent any of the various restaurants or clubs haunted by the elite of Wizarding society, and there wasn't evidence that he ventured into the Muggle world either. There were only two places Harry could be counted upon to appear at. First, as the _Prophet_ sports section reported on incessantly, he was always present at the Tornados' semi-weekly practices. Second, Harry would also be making his debut at the Wizengamot the next week and would thereafter be attending those sessions every week, plus the meetings of whichever committees he was placed on...

A plan slowly began to take shape in Dumbledore's mind. Smiling to himself, he Summoned his pot of Floo powder and threw a pinch into the fire.

* * *

Sweating, winded, and thoroughly exhausted, Harry collapsed in a heap onto the back seat of his stretched Rolls-Royce.

"Tough practice today?" asked Peter Stamper, a sardonic edge to his voice. The young lawyer was the picture of cool elegance sitting in the seat across from Harry, and in that moment, Harry hated him.

Harry tried to glare at the wizard, but found he couldn't summon the energy to do it properly. "Yeah," he coughed out instead, stumbling in his seat a little when the car began to move.

"Well, we can get started whenever you're ready, take whatever time you need," said Stamper. "No magic today, go with traffic," he called to the driver, and Harry immediately felt the car decelerate, causing another wobble.

Harry took that time. The limousine had been Stamper's idea, possibly the best one the wizard had had thus far. It was an extremely comfortable place to rest and recover after the Tornados' grueling practices, and Harry found that he enjoyed watching the buildings and people beyond his windows on the route from the Tornados' West London practice facility to Diagon Alley. It had the added benefit of giving Harry somewhere to meet with Stamper that was neither Stamper's office (where Harry had been mobbed by the secretarial pool the one time he had visited) nor either of Harry's homes.

Stamper, in turn, had been Blaise's idea. Now that Blaise was no longer around to instruct him in the ways of governing and operating within the ruling class, Harry needed someone to fill that role. Really, even if Blaise were available, it would have been a good idea to hire someone; It was customary for Lords of the Wizengamot to have a staff that managed much of their political affairs. So, Stamper was Harry's first step in that direction. Stamper was young, but very well-credentialed: in just nine years out of Hogwarts, he had earned a degree in law and policy from Harvard Magical, risen rapidly up the ranks among the staffs of various Wizengamot Lords, and headed the policy shop in the Minister's office. For the past two years, Stamper had been a senior associate at Preston, Beauregarde, Fields, and Swaine, the all-services legal firm at which Harry's agent was a partner, taking a leading role in their lobbying practice.

"What do you have for me, Stamper?" Harry asked, much more civilly, when his breathing had returned to normal.

"Mostly more of the same, I'm afraid," Stamper said. "I did manage to secure a promise from Lord Treehart's people that he will take you on the Goblin Relations committee, but it's still slow going with the staffs at Muggle Relations, Commerce, and Justice."

Such was life. Stamper often reported that the influential members of the Wizengamot had absolutely no idea what to make of Harry. Was he the attention-seeking lunatic they had read about in the _Daily Prophet_ the previous two years, or was he the Chosen One? Was he the mild-mannered, polite, reclusive Quidditch star and sometime hero the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff children told their parents about, or was he the arrogant, incompetent, lazy blood traitor the Slytherin children told _their_ parents about? Was he still Dumbledore's Golden Boy, or was he the more independent young man who had rowed with Dumbledore in the middle of Diagon Alley? Most saliently, Stamper said that the Lords didn't know whether they should welcome Harry as a potentially powerful ally, or if they should fear that including him in their committees would doom all their pet initiatives if he should happen to disagree. No new Wizengamot member had ever had Harry's combination of youth, notoriety, and sheer voting power, and the existing powers in the Wizengamot simply had no idea of how to deal with him.

Stamper was going on about the overtures he was making to influential Lords on the Banking committee, and Harry could not have been less interested. Listening to Stamper detail the subtle dynamics between Lord Whatshis and Lord Thingy and how Stamper was thinking of trying to play them off each other was like watching Muggles fight over control of the remote while a tornado was bearing down on their house. It didn't matter to Harry which committees he would join; he was just going to take over the country with Voldemort anyhow. Still, he couldn't really say that to Stamper, so he did his best to make the right noises at the right times.

"There's just one more thing," said Stamper at long last. "Lord Crane approached me just before I came here about a meeting he's planning on having with Lord Niles to discuss how to move forward in the wake of Lord Shearman's death. They want to include you, he said."

_This_ was interesting.

"Will Dumbledore be there? What about other Lords?" was Harry's immediate question.

"No, just the two of them and you, if you want to come."

Well. Crane and Niles were the two most important remaining progressive voices in the Wizengamot. Each had a long history of voting with Dumbledore and being among the most vocal and effective advocates and allies Dumbledore had in the Wizengamot. There were even rumors that they were members of the Order of the Phoenix, although Harry had never seen either at Grimmauld Place. Either way, now that Shearman was dead, these were the two closest people to Dumbledore in politics. If Harry could get in with them, they would be an invaluable source of information on what the aging wizard was thinking and doing.

Stamper was talking. "I told him that I'd bring it to you and that we'd think about it, but I don't think this is a great idea -"

"No, I want to be at that meeting," Harry told Stamper firmly. "Send an elf accepting their invitation as soon as possible, and if it's scheduled during one of my practices, tell Swaine to smooth things over with the Tornados. I'm going to be there."

"My Lord, not to argue with you, but I have to ask you why? You told me that you didn't want to be seen as Dumbledore's man..."

"You're right Stamper," Harry grinned, "I don't want to be Dumbledore's man. I want to make Dumbledore's men _my_ men."

* * *

"Good session today, Seamus," said Hermione brightly as she leaned over the desk, packing up the last of her notes. "You're really starting to get some of this defensive Transfiguration down!"

"Thanks," came Seamus's reply from over her right shoulder. She felt him come up behind her and run one of his slightly rough hands down her back. "You know," Seamus began, his voice gaining a light layer of husk, "we could stay a little longer if you'd like..."

"We have to get back," giggled Hermione, turning around and sitting on the edge of the desk. Seamus wrapped his arms around her back and moved in for a kiss, but Hermione laid a hand on his chest to stop him from getting too close. "Plus, I'm still mad at you, remember? You're on punishment," she said, though her tone remained light.

"Oh come on then, Hermione, let me apologize to you properly," begged Seamus, going in for the spot just above her collarbone this time. Hermione allowed herself to enjoy it for a brief moment, but then gently pulled away.

"No, we really need to get back. It will be after hours soon, and you're not a prefect." She smacked Seamus lightly on the bottom to make him lean up, and put away the last of her things. "Come on, let's go back to Gryffindor."

Hermione took Seamus' hand, and the Irish teen reluctantly followed her to the door of the Room of Requirement. Almost immediately after they exited the Room and made the turn towards Gryffindor Tower, however, they were stopped by a voice.

"Have fun in there?" The voice was hard, but unmistakably that of a teenaged girl.

"Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione as the younger redhead emerged from the shadows across the hallway. "I didn't see you there, you startled me!"

"No, you haven't seen very much of me at all lately," said Ginny. Her voice was frozen acid. "Run along now Seamus, Hermione and I have to talk."

Seamus looked helplessly at Hermione, who nodded to indicate that he should go. He did.

"Ginny...what's wrong?" Hermione began. "Why are you so upset?"

"Why am I upset?" Ginny choked out. The girl gave a shout of laughter that was utterly devoid of mirth. "Well, goodness, I just don't know Hermione. It certainly doesn't have anything to do with the fact that my brother was _tortured into insanity_ this summer!"

"Ginny, I-"

"We missed you at the Burrow," Ginny cut across Hermione, pain and bitterness etched into every syllable she spoke. "Where were you? It might've been nice to have someone there, you know? Maybe someone I could share my grief with? Someone who was just as hurt and angry and _devastated_ as I was? What would you call someone like that? A _friend_, perhaps?"

"We did come," Hermione said meekly, but Ginny interrupted her again.

"Oh, yeah, you came. Once." Ginny sneered. "Yes, two days after it happened, a day after you talked to the bloody _media_ about it, you and Harry and Tonks came. It was very nice of you to do that. You even stayed for, what, a whole two hours? How extremely generous of you, pardon me for forgetting. And please excuse me for forgetting all those other times you came, too...now that I think about it, you were there every Tuesday, weren't you? You even stayed with us for a week that one time, right?"

"Ginny..."

"_No!_ That's bloody well _not right_, is it? You _abandoned us_, didn't you, you bitch?"

"We were busy!" Hermione wailed in anguish, realizing too late that this was entirely the wrong thing to say. "All of us were, Harry, Tonks, myself, we were so busy this summer, you have no idea!"

"Oh, yeah, you were too busy," sneered Ginny again, rolling her eyes this time. "So busy that you had time to go clubbing and party so hard you wound up in _The Daily Prophet_, is that right?"

"I...we..."

"No, please Hermione, tell me what it was you were so busy with this summer. Fucking Seamus? Learning the Unforgivable Curses? Shacking up with Harry and that Slytherin bitch?"

"We're trying to fight Voldemort!" cried Hermione, desperately trying to reason with the girl. "We're trying to make it so what happened to Ron -"

"YOUR BEST FRIEND WAS TORTURED AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN CARE!" Ginny screamed. "WE WERE LIKE FAMILY! HOW COULD YOU?"

The verbal onslaught left Hermione utterly speechless. All she could do was gape and mouth wordlessly at Ginny, tears streaming down her eyes.

"You're a stuck-up, pretentious bitch and a pathetic, worthless excuse for a human being," Ginny snarled. "Don't ever talk to me or my family again. You're dead to me, you cunt."

"Ginny, please..."

"Go fuck yourself. That is, if Seamus hasn't used you all up yet. Here, I'll get you started with some lube." And with that, Ginny spat on the floor at Hermione's feet and stormed away.

Hermione didn't know how long she stayed there, huddled on the floor next to the entrance of the Room of Requirement, crying softly to herself. Her only way of judging was from the wad of spittle and phlegm Ginny had deposited at her feet, and that had evaporated long ago.

The worst part of the whole thing was that there wasn't a single thing Ginny had said that was factually wrong. There were no two ways about it, Hermione had abandoned the Weasleys in their hour of need. Hermione briefly tried to justify this to herself by remembering the way Molly Weasley had turned on Hermione in fourth year when the stories about her dumping Harry for Viktor Krum had come out, but that was no good. If the same sort of tragedy had befallen Hermione, there was no way Ginny would have abandoned her the way she had abandoned Ginny.

Ginny was even right about her not caring about what had happened to Ron. Sure, she had been upset when she had first read the news, but hadn't she immediately started rationalizing what had happened as cosmic payback for Ron's treatment of Harry? Hadn't she immediately resumed the training with Harry and Tonks as if nothing had happened? Hadn't she been perfectly content to stay away from the Burrow? Had she thought about what Ginny must have been going through, even once? Truly, who could deny the fact that she was a terrible friend?

Hermione wondered how Harry had felt, how he would feel if and when she told him about the fight with Ginny. She had told him the news about Ron that morning, and he...well, he had barely reacted at all when she told him. That was Harry's way, though, he always bottled up his emotions and refused to let them show until he couldn't hold on to them any longer. His dam had broken the next day, when he had run up to his bedroom full of anguish and grief after that short visit to the Weasley household.

Still, it was weird, now that Hermione thought back on it, the way that he hadn't seemed to react _at all_. He had gasped, or something, but then it was straight to that training with Tonks where Moody and Kingsley had shown up unexpectedly. Where Harry had used the Cruciatus Curse on Kingsley.

What was it Harry said he had been doing after Sirius' will reading? Signing paperwork all day with the goblins? That was strange, it hadn't taken nearly so long to get through the paperwork after his parents' will reading; the goblnis had even said that they could take care of most of it so Harry and the girls could go enjoy their day. And Harry had said that he had overheard some of the fight she'd had with Ron after Sirius' will reading...

A horrible suspicion was slowly taking form in Hermione's mind. She brought out her wand and tapped her messenger ring.

_We need to talk. Now._, she sent, turning the center stone red to indicate her urgency.

Moments later she got her reply. _Meet in Hogsmeade?_

_No, too public. Grimmauld Place. 30 min._

_OK, see you then._

* * *

It actually took Hermione about 40 minutes to travel far enough down the secret passageway behind the statue of the one-eyed witch to escape Hogwarts' wards and Apparate to Grimmauld Place, where she reappeared in the drawing room with a soft _pop_. Harry was there waiting for her, seated in one of the room's signature wingback chairs. He stood as he saw Hermione and wrapped her in a hug. Hermione returned it gladly, realizing for the first time just how much she had been missing him at Hogwarts.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked when they finally broke apart. His face was the picture of concern. "What's the matter?"

Hermione walked over to the brown leather couch in front of the fire and felt Harry slide down beside her. It was the couch she and Harry had shared the night they found out about Ron, the night Voldemort had made contact with Harry for the first time. She had thought Harry might have made a move on her that night, thought that she might give herself to him for a moment of comfort. She would have welcomed it, then. Though she didn't often admit it, even to herself, Hermione had had romantic feelings of one sort or another towards Harry ever since he had jumped on the troll's back to save her life that fateful day in their first year. She had never seemed to catch Harry's eye in that way, though; as far as Hermione knew, Harry had never had those sorts of feelings for anyone but Cho. Or, rather, Cho had been the only one until Blaise came along. So Hermione had always figured that if she and Harry ever were to hook up or get together or anything like that, it would have to be in a moment like that. A moment of vulnerability. A moment of euphoria. A charged, heightened moment, something completely out of the ordinary.

Not tonight, though.

"I got into a fight with Ginny just now," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly as the emotions of the night came back to her. "Or, it wasn't really a fight so much as it was Ginny screaming at me for a while and leaving..."

And Hermione told him everything that Ginny had said, all the emotions the young redhead had made her feel.

"And of course, she's _right_, which is just the worst part about it. We were awful to them, Harry, just awful," she was saying, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I mean, what were we even doing those days? Why couldn't we have gone and see the Weasleys right away, or have gone more often over the days after. They needed us, Harry!"

There was a pause as Harry appeared to choose his words. He may also have been jogging his memory, for which Hermione couldn't blame him. The silence was broken only by her occasional soft sniffling.

"I don't know, Hermione, " Harry finally said. "That was before we knew the true prophecy...we thought we had to spend every moment of every day training to beat Voldemort. 'We were busy' might not have been the most tactful thing you could have said to Ginny, but it was true."

There was another silence.

"Harry," Hermione said in a small voice, no longer able to avoid the real reason she had come. "Why didn't you really react when I told you about Ron?"

"What?"

"When I told you what happened to Ron, you barely reacted," Hermione said, rotating herself on the couch so that she could face Harry head on. "You gasped or something, but that was it. I had just told you that our best friend had been tortured! That he had lost his mind! Why weren't you surprised, why didn't you seem to care?"

Harry stared back at her, confusion written all over his expression. Hermione thought there might have been a little bit of fear hiding in his eyes as well, but she didn't know if that was only her imagination.

"Hermione, what are you getting at?" he said eventually.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed, despairing that she would actually have to give voice to her thoughts. "I'm probably just upset and not thinking clearly, but with the way you didn't react to the news, and the way you avoided the Weasleys all summer...and I _know_ the paperwork at Gringott's couldn't have taken all day..." Hermione trailed off, realizing that she was babbling. "I just...I have the most horrible suspicion, and I need you to tell me it's not true."

There was no mistaking the panicked look that shot across Harry's features this time, and that was all the confirmation Hermione needed. She gasped in horror and immediately slid backwards across the couch, putting as much distance as she could between them, and stared back at Harry with wide, betrayed eyes.

"Hermione, please! You don't understand!" Harry begged, voice full of what could only be called raw desperation. Hermione could only keep on staring at him.

"I lied to you. I didn't just overhear some of the fight you had with Ron that day, I was there and saw all of it. When you turned your back on him, he pulled his wand on you. He was going to curse you, and I stopped him. And then, when I found out what he was going to do to you, that unthinkable curse he was going to use...I don't know, I just snapped. I didn't mean to hold him under t for as long as I did, but that's just the way it happened. I was protecting you!"

This helped Hermione find her voice. "Well, I thank you for protecting me, but Harry, that job was done when you stopped the attack! The rest...don't you see how completely awful that is? How completely excessive? You used the Cruciatus Curse on our best friend! He's gone now! How can you possibly begin to justify that?"

"Yeah, you're right," said Harry, violently jumping from the coach and pacing in front of the fireplace. "I tortured him. He _deserved it_, Hermione. Ron was just about the worst friend its possible to have. He was selfish, he was petty, he was jealous, and _he tried to curse you_! I'm glad he's gone! I hope they never find a cure and he spends the rest of his life drooling and shitting himself! I _hate_ him! If I could curse him all over again, I'd do it without thinking twice! Fuck Ron Weasley, I'd kill him if I had the chance!"

There was a glint in Harry's eye that Hermione had never seen before. Harry looked utterly mad and deranged. Hermione's shock and anger melted as she looked at him, and they were replaced instantly by fear and the horrible realization that Harry was not saying these things at all. Lord Gaunt had taken over.

"Harry, please, listen to yourself," she cried, jumping off the coach and coming to his side. She laid a hand on his back and rubbed him in what she hoped was a soothing way. "This isn't you, that's a human being you're talking about. Please Harry, come back to me!"

And suddenly - before Hermione had time to process whether it was a good idea, before she even really registered that she'd had the idea - she was kissing him. She felt Harry stiffen briefly in surprise before returning the kiss enthusiastically, voraciously, violently. Hermione struggled to set the pace and succeeded, matching Harry with passion and feeling. Slowly but surely, Harry's aggression faded and the kiss, still heated and sensual, became more tender and visceral.

They broke apart. For a moment - and Hermione could not have begun to guess how long it lasted - the two just stared at each other. Neither of them said a word.

Then, moving as one, they crashed back together.

* * *

Two hours later, Hermione slipped out of the master bedroom of Grimmauld Place, completely naked. She tiptoed back down the stairs to the drawing room, where her Hogwarts uniform and undergarments were strewn all about the floor and furniture, mixed and mingled with the casual eveningwear Harry had had on. She dressed herself, double-checked that she had not forgotten anything, and Disapparated, reappearing in the secret passageway leading to the statue of the one-eyed witch. She climbed out of the statue, climbed up to Gryffindor tower, and climbed into bed. There she lay, still in her robes, wide awake despite the late hour.

_Oh dear Merlin_, she thought. _What have I done?_

* * *

**Author's** **Notes:** The first thing I'd like to say is that this chapter finally puts RotA over the 100,000 word mark. That's a really important milestone to me, and I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank all of you who have stuck with me over the years. It means a lot to me that you've stuck it out this long and taken so much of your own time to read my writing. Cheers!

As always, you can find a complete set of author's notes on my blog. Just a couple things I want to say, and then we can move on to review responses!

First, I really hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I'm not sure if I would call this my favorite chapter of the story so far, but writing it required more emotional investment than I've ever put in before. Especially in the confrontation between Ginny and Hermione, I really felt the emotions of my characters as I was writing more powerfully than I ever have before. I hope that came through.

Second, I would really encourage you to go to my blog and read my full treatment of Hermione's use of the Killing Curse, particularly if you were as troubled by it as I was the first time I read it. In this space, I'll just say that it was a very deliberate choice on her part, but not one that is entirely without risk.

Third, Over the years, several people have asked me what my plans for Ginny were. Obviously, you saw the beginning of that in this chapter. I hope her scene (and the one that followed) also gives some validation to those of you who thought that Ron's fate was treated too casually in the beginning. I agree with you, and hopefully the gravity of that moment was felt in this chapter.

Alright, let's respond to some reviews!

To **Dragonazar: **I don't really have a lot to say in response to your review because that would be spoiling, but I thought you asked some really good questions and wanted to give you a shoutout for that. I'm sorry for not getting to the Pureblood Caucus in this chapter, but obviously you haven't seen the last of them.

To **karlii: **I'm glad you picked up on how Blaise's reaction to Harry going on that raid without her was only nominally about her place in the Atoll group. Also, I told you this on twitter, but I just wanted to reiterate that I got a real kick following along with you as you read and reviewed every chapter, that was a great pleasure.

To **texasjeanette:** Tonks is the one who's applying Harry's _Meminisse_ charm now, sorry for not making that clear. Great question!

To **ladysavay: **Thanks for the great review! Don't worry, everything will be ok! Or, maybe it won't, I did read the _A Song of Ice and Fire_ books in between the last update and now...

**Frequently Asked Question:** _Why did Sirius give Remus and Tonks so much?_

-Because he could. /question.

Alright, that's all for this time! Be sure to leave reviews, check out my blog on Wordpress, and follow me on twitter!

Until next time,

Lord Supremo


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